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HIS  HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY 


BOOKS   BY  MRS.   EVERARD  COTES 
(SARA  JEANNETTE  DUNCAN). 


His  Honour,  and  a  Lady. 

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The  Story  of  Sonny  Sahib. 

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The  Simple  Adventures  of  a  Memsahib. 

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New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


ItftfV*  OF  CALIF. 


HIS   HONOUR,   AND 
A    LADY 


BY 

MRS.   EVERARD   COTES 

(SARA  JEANNETTE   DUNCAN) 

AUTHOR    OF   A    SOCIAL    DEPARTURE,    AN    AMERICAN    GIRL    IN    LONDON, 

A    DAUGHTER    OF    TO-DAY,     VERNON'S    AUNT, 

THE    STORY    OF    SONNY    SAHIB,    ETC. 


NEW     YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1896 


COPYRIGHT,  1895,  1896, 
By  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FACING 
PAGE 


The  situation  made  its  voiceless  demand        .        Frontispiece 

"  She  seems  to  be  sufficiently  entertained "     .        .        .        .21 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  .......       83 

Notwithstanding,  it  was  gay  enough 150 

"  What  do  I  know  about  the  speech  "  ! 215 

She  drove  back 305 


2129646 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

"  THE  Sahib  walks  !  "  said  Ram  Prasannad, 
who  dusted  the  office  books  and  papers,  to 
Bundal  Singh  the  messenger,  who  wore  a  long 
red  coat  with  a  badge  of  office,  and  went  about 
the  business  of  the  Queen-Empress  on  his  two 
lean  brown  legs. 

"What  talk  is  that?"  Bundal  Singh  shifted 
his  betel  quid  to  the  other  cheek  and  lunged 
upon  his  feet.  This  in  itself  was  something. 
When  one  sits  habitually  upon  one's  heels  the 
process  of  getting  up  is  not  undertaken  lightly. 
The  men  looked  out  together  between  the 
whitewashed  stucco  pillars  of  the  long  veran- 
dah that  interposed  between  the  Commission- 
er's  clerks  and  the  glare  and  publicity  of  the 
outer  world  of  Hassimabad.  Overhead,  in  a 


2  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

pipal  tree  that  threw  sharp-cut  patterns  of  its 
heart-shaped  leaves  about  their  feet,  a  crow 
stretched  its  grey-black  throat  in  strenuous 
caws,  since  it  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning 
and  there  was  no  reason  to  keep  silence. 
Farther  away  a  chorus  of  other  crows  smote 
the  sunlight,  and  from  the  direction  of  the 
bazar  came  a  murmur  of  the  life  there,  borne 
higher  now  and  then  in  the  wailing  voice  of 
some  hawker  of  sweetmeats.  Nevertheless  there 
was  a  boundless  stillness,  a  stillness  that  might 
have  been  commanded.  The  prodigal  sun  inten- 
sified it,  and  the  trees  stood  in  it,  a  red  and  dusty 
road  wound  through  it,  and  the  figure  of  a  man, 
walking  quickly  down  the  road,  seemed  to  be  a 
concentration  of  it. 

"  That  signifies,"  continued  Ram  Prasannad, 
without  emotion,  "  news  that  is  either  very  good 
or  very  bad.  The  Government  Idt  had  but 
arrived,  the  sahib  opened  one  letter  only — which 
is  now  with  him — and  in  a  breath  he  was  gone, 
walking,  though  the  horse  was  still  fast  between 
the  shafts.  Myself,  I  think  the  news  is  good,  for 
my  cousin — he  is  a  writing  baboo  in  the  Home 


•HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  3 

Office,  dost  thou  understand,  thou,  runner  of 
errands ! — has  sent  word  to  me  that  the  sahib  is 
much  in  favour  with  the  Burra  Lat,  and  that  it 
would  be  well  to  be  faithful  to  him." 

"  I  will  go  swiftly  after  with  an  umbrella,  and 
from  his  countenance  it  will  appear,"  remarked 
Bundal  Singh  ;  "  and  look  thou,  worthy  one,  if 
that  son  of  mud,  Lai  Beg,  the  grain  dealer,  comes 
again  in  my  absence  to  try  to  make  petition  to 
the  sahib,  and  brings  a  pice  less  than  one  rupee 
to  me,  do  thou  refuse  him  admission." 

Bundal  Singh  ran  after  his  master,  as  he  said. 
As  John  Church  walked  rapidly,  and  the  habitual 
pace  of  a  Queen's  messenger  in  red  and  gold  is 
a  dignified  walk,  the  umbrella  was  tendered  with 
a  devoted  loss  of  wind. 

"  It  may  be  that  your  honour  will  take  harm 
from  the  sun,"  Bundal  Singh  suggested,  with 
the  privilege  all  the  Commissioner's  people  felt 
permitted  to  use.  The  Commissioner  liked  it — 
could  be  depended  upon  to  appreciate  any  little 
savour  of  personal  devotion  to  him,  even  if  it 
took  the  form  of  a  liberty.  He  had  not  a  servant 
who  was  unaware  of  this  or  failed  to  presume 


4  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

upon  it,  in  his  place  and  degree.  This  one  got  a 
nod  of  acknowledgment  as  his  master  took  the 
opened  umbrella,  and  observed,  as  he  fell  behind, 
that  the  sahib  was  too  much  preoccupied  to 
carry  it  straight.  He  went  meditatively  back 
to  Ram  Prasannad  in  the  verandah,  who  said, 
"Well?" 

"  Simply  it  does  not  appear.  The  sahib's 
forehead  had  twenty  wrinkles,  and  his  mind 
was  a  thousand  miles  hence.  Yet  it  was  as 
if  he  had  lately  smiled  and  would  smile  again. 
What  will  be,  will  be.  Lai  Beg  has  not  been 
here?" 

John  Church  walked  steadily  on,  with  his 
near-sighted  eyes  fixed  always  upon  the  wide 
space  of  sunlit  road,  its  red  dust  thick-printed 
with  bare  feet  and  hoofs,  that  lay  in  front  of 
him — seeing  nothing,  literally,  but  the  way  home. 
He  met  no  one  who  knew  him  except  people 
from  the  bazar,  who  regarded  their  vizier  with 
serious  wonder  as  they  salaamed,  the  men  who 
sat  upon  low  bamboo  carts  and  urged,  hand  upon 
flank,  the  peaceful-eyed  cattle  yoked  to  them, 
turning  to  stare  as  they  jogged  indolently  past. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  5 

A  brown  pariah,  curled  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  lifted  his  long  snout  in  lazy  apology  as 
Church  stepped  round  him,  trusting  the  sense 
that  told  him  it  would  not  be  necessary  to  get 
out  of  the  way.  As  he  passed  the  last  low  wall, 
mossy  and  discoloured,  that  divided  its  brilliantly 
tangled  garden  from  the  highway,  and  turned  in 
at  its  own  gate,  he  caught  himself  out  of  his 
abstraction  and  threw  up  his  head.  He  entered 
his  wife's  drawing-room  considerately,  and  a  ray 
of  light,  slipping  through  the  curtains  and  past 
the  azaleas  and  across  the  cool  duskness  of  the 
place,  fell  on  his  spectacles  and  exaggerated  the 
triumph  in  his  face. 

The  lady,  who  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room  writing,  rose  as  her  husband  came  into  it, 
and  stepped  forward  softly  to  meet  him.  If  you 
had  known  her  you  would  have  noticed  a  slight 
elation  in  her  step  that  was  not  usual,  and  made 
it  more  graceful,  if  anything,  than  it  commonly 
was. 

"  I  think  I  know  what  you  have  come  to  tell 
me,"  she  said.  Her  voice  matched  her  person- 
ality so  perfectly  that  it  might  have  suggested 


6  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

her,  to  a  few  people,  in  her  darkened  drawing- 
room,  as  its  perfume  would  betray  some  sweet- 
smelling  thing  in  the  evening.  Not  to  John 
Church.  "  I  think  I  know,"  she  said,  as  he 
hesitated  for  words  that  would  not  show  ex- 
travagant or  undignified  gratification.  "  But  tell 
me  yourself.  It  will  be  a  pleasure." 

"  That  Sir  Griffiths  Spence  goes  on  eighteen 
months'  sick  leave,  and " 

"  And  that  you  are  appointed  to  officiate  for 
him.  Yes." 

"  Somebody  has  written  ?  " 

"  Yes — Mr.  Ancram." 

His  wife  had  come  close  to  him,  and  he 
noticed  that  she  was  holding  out  her  hands  in 
her  impulse  of  congratulation.  He  took  one  of 
them — it  was  all  he  felt  the  occasion  required — 
and  shook  it  lamely.  She  dropped  the  other 
with  a  little  quick  turn  of  her  head  and  a  dash 
of  amusement  at  her  own  expense  in  the  gentle 
gravity  of  her  expression.  "Do  sit  down,"  she 
said,  almost  as  if  he  had  been  a  visitor,  "  and 
tell  me  all  about  it."  She  dragged  a  comfortable 
chair  forward  out  of  its  relation  with  a  Burmese 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A    LADY.  7 

carved  table,  some  pots  of  ferns  and  a  screen,  and 
sat  down  herself  opposite,  leaning  forward  in  a 
little  pose  of  expectancy.  Church  placed  him- 
self on  the  edge  of  it,  grasping  his  hat  with 
both  hands  between  his  knees. 

"  I  must  apologise  for  my  boots,"  he  said, 
looking  down :  "  I  walked  over.  I  am  very 
dusty." 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  You  are  King  of 
Bengal !  " 

"  Acting  King." 

"It  is  the  same  thing — or  it  \vill  be.  Sir 
Griffiths  retires  altogether  in  two  years — Lord 
Scansleigh  evidently  intends  you  to  succeed 
him."  The  lady  spoke  with  obvious  repression, 
but  her  gray  eyes  and  the  warm  whiteness  of 
her  oval  face  seemed  to  have  caught  into  them- 
selves all  the  light  and  shadow  of  the  room. 

"  Perhaps — perhaps.  You  always  invest  in 
the  future  at  a  premium,  Judith.  I  don't  intend 
to  think  about  that." 

Such  an  anticipation,  based  on  his  own  worth, 
seemed  to  him  unwarrantable,  almost  indecent. 

"  I  do,"  she  said,  wilfully  ignoring  the  cloud- 


g  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

ing  of  his  face.  "  There  is  so  much  to  think 
about.  First  the  pay — almost  ten  thousand 
rupees  a  month — and  we  are  poor.  It  may  be 
a  material  consideration,  but  I  don't  mind  con- 
fessing that  the  prospect  of  never  having  to  cut 
the  khansamah  appeals  to  me.  We  shall  have  a 
palace  and  a  park  to  live  in,  with  a  guard  at  the 
gates,  and  two  outriders  with  swords  to  follow 
our  carriage.  We  shall  live  in  Calcutta,  where 
there  are  trams  and  theatres  and  shops  and 
people.  The  place  carries  knighthood  if  you 
are  confirmed  in  it,  and  you  will  be  Sir  John 
Church — that  gratifies  the  snob  that  is  latent  in 
me  because  I  am  a  woman,  John."  (She  paused 
and  glanced  at  his  face,  which  had  grown  al- 
most morose.)  "  Best  of  all,"  she  added  lightly, 
"  as  Lieutenant-Governor  of  Bengal  you  will  be 
practically  sole  ruler  of  eighty  millions  of  people. 
You  will  be  free  to  carry  out  your  own  theories, 
and  to  undertake  reforms — any  number  of  re- 
forms !  Mr.  Ancram  says,"  she  went  on,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  "  that  the  man  and  the 
opportunity  have  come  together." 

John    Church    blushed,    through    his    beard 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  g 

which  was  gray,  and  over  the  top  of  his  head 
which  was  bald,  but  his  look  lightened. 

"  Ancram  will  be  one  of  my  secretaries,"  he 
said.  "  Does  he  speak  at  all — does  he  mention 
the  way  it  has  been  taken  in  Calcutta  ?  " 

Mrs.  Church  went  to  her  writing-table  and 
came  back  with  the  letter.  It  was  luxuriously 
written,  in  a  rapid  hand  as  full  of  curves  and 
angles  as  a  woman's,  and  covered,  from  "  Dear 
Lady "  to  "  Always  yours  sincerely,"  several 
broad-margined  sheets. 

"  I  think  he  does,"  she  said,  deliberately 
searching  the  pages.  "  Yes  :  '  Church  was  not 
thought  precisely  in  the  running — you  are  so 
remote  in  Hassimabad,  and  his  work  has  always 
been  so  unostentatious — and  there  was  some 
surprise  when  the  news  came,  but  no  cavil.  It 
is  known  that  the  Viceroy  has  been  looking 
almost  with  tears  for  a  man  who  would  be  strong 
enough  to  redeem  a  few  of  Sir  Griffiths'  mis- 
takes if  possible^  while  he  is  away — he  has  been, 
as  you  know,  ludicrously  weak  with  the  natives 
— and  Church's  handling  of  that  religious  uproar 
you  had  a  year  ago  has  not  been  forgotten.  I 


I0  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

need  not  expatiate  upon  the  pleasure  your  friends 
feel,  but  it  may  gratify  you  to  know  that  the 
official  mob  is  less  ready  with  criticism  of  His 
Excellency's  choice  than  usual.' ' 

John  Church  listened  with  the  look  of  putting 
his  satisfaction  under  constraint.  He  listened  in 
the  official  manner,  as  one  who  has  many  things 
to  hear,  with  his  head  bent  forward  and  toward 
his  wife,  and  his  eyes  consideringly  upon  the 
floor. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  said  nervously  when 
she  had  finished — "  I  am  glad  of  that.  There  is 
a  great  deal  to  be  done  in  Bengal,  and  matters 
will  be  simplified  if  they  recognise  it." 

"  I  think  you  would  find  a  great  deal  to  do 
anywhere,  John,"  remarked  Mrs.  Church.  It 
could  almost  be  said  that  she  spoke  kindly,  and 
a  sensitive  observer  with  a  proper  estimate  of  her 
husband  might  have  found  this  irritating.  Dur- 
ing the  little  while  that  followed,  however,  as 
they  talked,  in  the  warmth  of  this  unexpected 
gratification,  of  what  his  work  had  been  as  a 
Commissioner,  and  what  it  might  be  as  a  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor, it  would  have  been  evident 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  IX 

even  to  an  observer  who  was  not  sensitive,  that 
here  they  touched  a  high-water  mark  of  their 
intercourse,  a  climax  in  the  cordiality  of  their 
mutual  understanding. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  John  Church,  get- 
ting up  to  go,  "  when  is  Ancram  to  be  mar- 
ried?" 

"  I  don't  know  !  "  Mrs.  Church  threw  some 
interest  into  the  words.  Her  inflection  said 
that  she  was  surprised  that  she  didn't  know. 
"  He  only  mentions  Miss  Daye  to  call  her  a 
'  study  in  femininity,'  which  looks  as  if  he  might 
be  submitting  to  a  protracted  process  of  educa- 
tion at  her  hands.  Certainly  not  soon,  I  should 
think." 

"  Ancram  must  be  close  on  forty,  with  good 
pay,  good  position,  good  prospects.  He 
shouldn't  put  it  off  any  longer :  a  man  has  no 
business  to  grow  old  alone  in  this  country. 
He  deteriorates." 

Church  pulled  himself  together  with  a  shake 
— he  was  a  loose-hung  creature — and  put  a  nerv- 
ous hand  up  to  his  necktie.  Then  he  pulled 
down  his  cuffs,  considered  his  hat  with  the 


I2  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

effect  of  making  quite  sure  that  there  was  noth- 
ing more  to  say,  and  turned  to  go. 

"  You  might  send  me  over  something,"  he 
said,  glancing  at  his  watch.  "  I  won't  be  able 
to  come  back  to  breakfast.  Already  I've  lost 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  from  work.  Govern- 
ment doesn't  pay  me  for  that.  You  are  pleased, 
then?"  he  added,  looking  round  at  her  in  a 
half  shamefaced  way  from  the  door. 

Mrs.  Church  had  returned  to  the  writing- 
table,  and  had  again  taken  up  her  pen.  She 
leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  lifted  her  delicate 
chin  with  a  smile  that  had  custom  and  patience 
in  it. 

"  Very  pleased  indeed,"  she  said ;  and  he 
went  away.  The  intelligent  observer,  again, 
would  have  wondered  how  he  refrained  from 
going  back  and  kissing  her.  Perhaps  the  cus- 
tom and  the  patience  in  her  smile  would  have 
lent  themselves  to  the  explanation.  At  all 
events,  he  went  away. 

He  was  forty-two,  exactly  double  her  age, 
when  he  married  Judith  Strange,  eight  years 
before,  in  Stoneborough,  a  small  manufacturing 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^ 

town  in  the  north  of  England,  where  her  father 
was  a  Nonconformist  minister.  He  was  her 
opportunity,  and  she  had  taken  him,  with  pri- 
vate congratulation  that  she  could  respect  him 
and  private  qualms  as  to  whether  her  respect 
was  her  crucial  test  of  him — considered  in  the 
light  of  an  opportunity.  Not  in  any  sordid 
sense ;  she  would  be  more  inclined  perhaps  to 
apologise  for  herself  than  I  am  to  apologise  for 
her.  But  with  an  inordinately  hungry  capacity 
for  life  she  had  the  narrowest  conditions  to  live 
in.  She  knew  by  intuition  that  the  world  was 
full  of  colour  and  passion,  and  when  one  is  tor- 
mented with  this  sort  of  knowledge  it  becomes 
more  than  ever  grievous  to  inhabit  one  of  its 
small,  dull,  grimy  blind  alleys,  with  the  single 
anticipation  of  enduring  to  a  smoke-blackened 
old  age,  like  one  of  Stoneborough's  lesser  chim- 
neys. There  was  nothing  ideal  about  John 
Church  except  his  honesty, — already  he  stooped, 
already  he  was  grey,  sallow  and  serious,  with 
the  slenderest  interest  in  questions  that  could 
not  express  their  utility  in  unquestionable  facts, 
— but  when  he  asked  her  to  marry  him,  the 


I4  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

wall  at  the  end  of  the  alley  fell  down,  and  a 
breeze  stole  in  from  the  far  East,  with  a  vision 
of  palms  and  pomegranates.  She  accepted  him 
for  the  sake  of  her  imagination,  wishing  pro- 
foundly that  he  was  not  so  much  like  her  father, 
with  what  her  mother  thought  almost  improper 
promptitude ;  and  for  a  long  time,  although  he 
still  stood  outside  it,  her  imagination  loyally  re- 
warded her.  She  felt  the  East  to  her  finger- 
tips, and  her  mere  physical  life  there  became 
a  thing  of  vivid  experience,  to  be  valued  for 
itself.  If  her  husband  confounded  this  joy  in 
her  expansion  with  the  orthodox  happiness  of  a 
devoted  wife,  it  cannot  be  said  that  he  was 
particularly  to  blame  for  his  mistake,  for  num- 
bers of  other  people  made  it  also.  And  when, 
after  eight  years  of  his  companionship,  and  that 
of  the  sunburned  policeman,  the  anaemic  magis- 
trate, the  agreeable  doctor,  their  wives,  the  odd 
colonel,  and  the  stray  subalterns  that  constituted 
society  in  the  stations  they  lived  in,  she  began 
to  show  a  little  lassitude  of  spirit,  he  put  it 
down  not  unnaturally  to  the  climate,  and  wished 
he  could  conscientiously  take  a  few  months' 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  jj 

leave,  since  nothing  would  induce  her  to  go  to 
England  without  him.  By  this  time  India  had 
become  a  resource,  India  that  lay  all  about  her, 
glowing,  profuse,  mysterious,  fascinating,  a  place 
in  which  she  felt  that  she  had  no  part,  could 
never  have  any  part,  but  that  of  a  spectator. 
The  gesture  of  a  fakir,  the  red  masses  of  the 
gold-mohur  trees  against  the  blue  intensity  of 
the  sky,  the  heavy  sweetness  of  the  evening 
wind,  the  soft  colour  and  curves  of  the  home- 
ward driven  cattle,  the  little  naked  babies  with 
their  jingling  anklets  in  the  bazar — she  had  be- 
gun to  turn  to  these  things  seeking  their  gift 
of  pleasure  jealously,  consciously  thankful  that, 
in  spite  of  the  Amusement  Club,  she  could 
never  be  altogether  bored. 

John  Church  went  back  to  work  with  his 
satisfaction  sweetened  by  the  fact  that  his  wife 
had  told  him  that  she  was  very  pleased  indeed, 
while  Mrs.  Church  answered  the  Honourable 
Mr.  Lewis  Ancram's  letter. 

"  I  have  been  making  my  own  acquaintance 
this  morning,"  she  said  among  other  things, 
"as  an  ambitious  woman.  It  is  intoxicating, 


j6  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

after  this  idle,  sun-filled,  wondering-  life,  with  the 
single  supreme  care  that  John  does  not  wear 
ragged  collars  to  church — as  a  Commissioner 
he  ought  to  be  extravagant  in  collars — to  be 
confronted  with  something  to  assume  and  carry 
out,  a  part  to  play,  with  all  India  looking  on. 
Don't  imagine  a  lofty  intention  on  my  part  to 
inspire  my  husband's  Resolutions.  I  assure  you 
I  see  myself  differently.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it 
is  the  foolish  anticipation  of  my  state  and  splen- 
dour that  has  excited  my  vain  imagination  as 
much  as  anything.  Already,  prospectively,  I 
murmur  lame  nothings  into  the  ear  of  the 
Viceroy  as  he  takes  me  down  to  dinner !  But 
I  am  preposterously  delighted.  To-morrow  is 
Sunday — I  have  an  irreverent  desire  for  the 
prayers  of  all  the  churches." 


CHAPTER    II. 

"  HERE  you  are  at  last ! "  remarked  Mrs. 
Daye  with  vivacity,  taking  the  three  long,  pro- 
nounced and  rustling  steps  which  she  took  so 
very  well,  toward  the  last  comer  to  her  dinner 
party,  who  made  his  leisurely  entrance  between 
the  portieres,  pocketing  his  handkerchief.  "Don't 
say  you  have  been  to  church,"  she  went  on, 
holding  out  a  condoning  hand,  "  for  none  of  us 
will  believe  you." 

Although  Mr.  Ancram's  lips  curved  back 
over  his  rather  prominent  teeth  in  a  narrow 
smile  as  he  put  up  his  eyeglass  and  looked 
down  at  his  hostess,  Mrs.  Daye  felt  the  levity 
fade  out  of  her  expression :  she  had  to  put  com- 
pulsion on  herself  to  keep  it  in  her  face.  It 
was  as  if  she,  his  prospective  mother-in-law,  had 
taken  the  least  of  liberties  with  Mr.  Ancram. 

"  Does     the    only    road    to    forgiveness    lie 

17 


jg  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

through  the  church  gate?"  he  asked.  His  voice 
was  high  and  agreeable  ;  it  expressed  discrimina- 
tion ;  his  tone  implied  that,  if  the  occasion  had 
required  it,  he  could  have  said  something  much 
cleverer  easily — an  implication  no  one  who 
knew  him  would  have  found  unwarrantable. 

"  The  padres  say  it  does,  as  a  rule,  Ancram," 
put  in  Colonel  Daye.  "  In  this  case  it  lies 
through  the  dining-room  door.  Will  you  take 
my  wife  in?" 

In  a  corner  of  the  room,  which  she  might 
have  chosen  for  its  warm  obscurity,  Rhoda  Daye 
watched  with  curious  scrutiny  the  lightest  detail 
of  Mr.  Lewis  Ancram 's  behaviour.  An  elderly 
gentleman,  with  pulpy  red  cheeks  and  an  ampli- 
tude of  white  waistcoat,  stood  beside  her  chair, 
swaying  out  of  the  perpendicular  with  well-bred 
rigidity  now  and  then,  in  tentative  efforts  at  con- 
versation ;  to  which  she  replied,  "  Really  ?  "  and 
"  Yes,  I  know,"  while  her  eyes  fixed  themselves 
upon  Ancram 's  face,  and  her  little  white  features 
gleamed  immobile  under  the  halo  which  the  tall 
lamp  behind  her  made  with  her  fuzz  of  light- 
brown  hair.  "  Mother's  respect  for  him  is  simply 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND    A   LADY.  JQ 

outrageous,"  she  reflected,  as  she  assured  the 
elderly  gentleman  that  even  for  Calcutta  the  heat 
was  really  extraordinary,  considering  that  they 
were  in  December.  "  I  wonder — supposing  he 
had  not  made  love  to  me — if  I  could  have  had 
as  much  !  "  She  did  not  answer  herself  definite- 
ly— not  from  any  lack  of  candour,  but  because 
the  question  presented  difficulties.  She  slipped 
past  him  presently  on  the  arm  of  the  elderly 
gentleman,  as  Ancram  still  stood  with  bent  head 
talking  to  her  mother.  His  eyes  sought  hers 
with  a  significance  that  flattered  her — there  was 
no  time  for  further  greeting — and  the  bow  with 
which  he  returned  her  enigmatic  little  nod  sin- 
gled her  out  for  consideration.  As  she  went  in 
to  dinner  the  nape  of  Mr.  Lewis  Ancram's  neck 
and  the  parting  of  his  hair  remained  with  her  as 
pictorial  facts. 

Mrs.  Daye  always  gave  composite  dinner- 
parties, and  this  was  one  of  them.  "  If  you  ask 
nobody  but  military  people  to  meet  each  other," 
she  was  in  the  habit  of  saying,  "  you  hear  noth- 
ing but  the  price  of  chargers  and  the  prospects 
of  the  Staff  Corps.  If  you  make  your  list  up  of 


20  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

civilians,  the  conversation  consists  of  abuse  of 
their  official  superiors  and  the  infamous  conduct 
of  the  Secretary  of  State  about  the  rupee."  On 
this  occasion  Mrs.  Daye  had  reason  to  anticipate 
that  the  price  of  chargers  would  be  varied  by 
the  grievances  of  the  Civil  Service,  and  that  a 
touring  Member  of  Parliament  would  participate 
in  the  discussion  who  knew  nothing  about  either ; 
and  she  felt  that  her  blend  would  be  successful. 
She  could  give  herself  up  to  the  somewhat  fear- 
ful enjoyment  she  experienced  in  Mr.  Ancram's 
society.  Mrs.  Daye  was  convinced  that  nobody 
appreciated  Mr.  Ancram  more  subtly  than  she 
did.'  She  saw  a  great  deal  of  jealousy  of  him  in 
Calcutta  society,  whereas  she  was  wont  to  de- 
clare that,  for  her  part,  she  found  nothing  ex- 
traordinary in  the  way  he  had  got  in — a  man  of 
his  brains,  you  know  !  And  if  Calcutta  resented 
this  imputation  upon  its  own  brains  in  ever  so 
slight  a  degree,  Mrs.  Daye  saw  therein  more 
jealousy  of  the  fact  that  her  family  circle  was 
about  to  receive  him.  When  it  had  once 
opened  for  that  purpose  and  closed  again,  Mrs. 
Daye  hoped  vaguely  that  she  would  be  sus- 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  2I 

tained  for  the  new  and  exacting-  duty  of  living 
up  to  Mr.  Ancram. 

"Please  look  at  Rhoda,"  she  begged,  in  a  con- 
versational buzz  that  her  blend  had  induced. 

Mr.  Ancram  looked,  deliberately,  but  with 
appreciation.  "  She  seems  to  be  sufficiently 
entertained,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  she  is !  She's  got  a  globe-trotter. 
Haven't  you  found  out  that  Rhoda  simply  loves 
globe-trotters?  She  declares  that  she  renews 
her  youth  in  them." 

"  Her  first  impressions,  I  suppose  she  means  ?  " 

"  Oh,  as  to  what  she  means " 

Mrs.  Daye  broke  off  irresolutely,  and  thought- 
fully conveyed  a  minute  piece  of  roll  to  her  lips. 
The  minute  piece  of  roll  was  Mr.  Ancram's 
opportunity  to  complete  Mrs.  Daye's  sugges- 
tion of  a  certain  interesting  ambiguity  in  her 
daughter ;  but  he  did  not  take  it.  He  continued 
to  look  attentively  at  Miss  Daye,  who  appeared, 
as  he  said,  to  be  sufficiently  entertained,  under 
circumstances  which  seemed  to  him  inadequate. 
Her  traveller  was  talking  emphatically,  with 
gestures  of  elderly  dogmatism,  and  she  was 


22  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

deferentially  listening,  an  amusement  behind  her 
eyes  with  which  the  Chief  Secretary  to  the  Gov- 
ernment at  Bengal  was  not  altogether  unfamiliar. 
He  had  seen  it  there  before,  on  occasions  when 
there  was  apparently  nothing  to  explain  it. 

"  It  would  be  satisfactory  to  see  her  eating 
her  dinner,"  he  remarked,  with  what  Mrs.  Daye 
felt  to  be  too  slight  a  degree  of  solicitude.  She 
was  obliged  to  remind  herself  that  at  thirty- 
seven  a  man  was  apt  to  take  these  things  more 
as  matters  of  fact,  especially — and  there  was  a 
double  comfort  in  this  reflection — a  man  already 
well  up  in  the  Secretariat  and  known  to  be 
ambitious.  "  Is  it  possible,"  Mr.  Ancram  went 
on,  somewhat  absently,  "  that  these  are  Calcutta 
roses  ?  You  must  have  a  very  clever  gar- 
dener." 

"  No" — and  Mrs.  Daye  pitched  her  voice 
with  a  gentle  definiteness  that  made  what  she 
was  saying  interesting  all  round  the  table — 
"  they  came  from  the  Viceroy's  place  at  Barrack- 
pore.  Lady  Emily  sent  them  to  me  :  so  sweet  of 
her,  I  thought !  I  always  think  it  particularly 
kind  when  people  in  that  position  trouble  them- 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  23 

selves  about  one ;  they  must  have  so  many  de- 
mands upon  their  time." 

The  effect  could  not  have  been  better. 
Everybody  looked  at  the  roses  with  an  interest 
that  might  almost  be  described  as  respectful ; 
and  Mrs.  Delaine,  whose  husband  was  Captain 
Delaine  of  the  Durham  Rifles,  said  that  she 
would  have  known  them  for  Their  Excellencies' 
roses  anywhere — they  always  did  the  table  with 
that  kind  for  the  Thursday  dinners  at  Govern- 
ment House — she  had  never  known  them  to 
use  any  other. 

Mrs.  St.  George,  whose  husband  was  the 
Presidency  Magistrate,  found  this  interesting. 
"Do  they  really?"  she  exclaimed.  "I've  often 
wondered  what  those  big  Thursday  affairs  were 
like.  Fancy — we've  been  in  Calcutta  through 
three  cold  weathers  now,  and  have  never  been 
asked  to  anything  but  little  private  dinners  at 
Government  House — not  more  than  eight  or  ten, 
you  know  ! " 

"  Don't  you  prefer  that  ? "  asked  Mrs.  De- 
laine, taking  her  quenching  with  noble  equa- 
nimity. 


24  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

"  Well,  of  course  one  sees  more  of  them," 
Mrs.  St.  George  admitted.  "  The  last  time  we 
were  there,  about  a  fortnight  ago,  I  had  a  long 
chat  with  Lady  Emily.  She  is  a  sweet  thing, 
and  perfectly  wild  at  being  out  of  the  school- 
room !  "  Mrs.  St.  George  added  that  it  was  a 
charming  family,  so  well  brought  up  ;  and  this 
seemed  to  be  a  matter  of  special  congratulation 
as  affecting  the  domestic  arrangements  of  a 
Viceroy.  There  was  a  warmth  and  an  empha- 
sis in  the  corroboration  that  arose  which  almost 
established  relations  of  intimacy  between  Their 
Excellencies  and  Mrs.  Daye's  dinner-party.  Mrs. 
Daye's  daughter  listened  in  her  absorbed,  not- 
ing manner ;  and  when  the  elderly  gentleman 
remarked  with  a  certain  solemnity  that  they 
were  talking  of  the  Scansleighs,  he  supposed, 
the  smile  with  which  she  said  "  Evidently " 
was  more  pronounced  than  he  could  have  had 
any  right  to  expect. 

"  They  seem   to  be    delightful    people,"  con- 
tinued the  elderly  gentleman,  earnestly. 

"  I  daresay,"  Miss    Daye  replied,  with  grave 
deliberation.      "  They're   very    decorative,"    she 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  25 

added  absently.  "  That's  a  purely  Indian  vege- 
table, Mr.  Pond.  Rather  sticky,  and  without  the 
ghost  of  a  flavour  ;  but  you  ought  to  try  it,  as 
an  experience,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

It  occurred  to  Mrs.  Daye  sometimes  that  Mr. 
Ancram  was  unreasonably  difficult  to  entertain, 
even  for  a  Chief  Secretary.  It  occurred  to  her 
more  forcibly  than  usual  on  this  particular  even- 
ing, and  it  was  almost  with  trepidation  that  she 
produced  the  trump  card  on  which  she  had 
been  relying  to  provoke  a  lively  suit  of  amia- 
bilities. She  produced  it  awkwardly  too  ;  there 
was  always  a  slight  awkwardness,  irritating  to  so 
habile  a  lady,  in  her  manner  of  addressing  Mr. 
Ancram,  owing  to  her  confessed  and  painful  in- 
ability to  call  him  "  Lewis  " — yet.  "  Oh,"  she 
said  finally,  "  I  haven't  congratulated  you  on 
your  '  Modern  Influence  of  the  Vedic  Books.' 
I  assure  you,  in  spite  of  its  being  in  blue  paper 
covers  and  printed  by  Government  I  went 
through  it  with  the  greatest  interest.  And  there 
were  no  pictures  either,"  Mrs.  Daye  added,  with 
the  ingenuousness  which  often  clings  to  Anglo- 
Indian  ladies  somewhat  late  in  life. 


26  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A    LADY. 

Mr.  Ancram  was  occupied  for  the  moment  in 
scrutinising  the  contents  of  a  dish  which  a  serv- 
ant patiently  presented  to  his  left  elbow.  It 
was  an  ornate  and  mottled  conception  visible 
through  a  mass  of  brown  jelly,  and  the  man 
looked  disappointed  when  so  important  a  guest, 
after  perceptible  deliberation,  decisively  remove^ 
his  eyeglass  and  shook  his  head.  Mrs.  Daye  was 
in  the  act  of  reminding  herself  of  the  probably 
impaired  digestion  of  a  Chief  Secretary,  when 
he  seemed  suddenly  recalled  to  the  fact  that  she 
had  spoken. 

"  Really  ?  "  he  said,  looking  fully  at  her,  with 
a  smile  that  had  many  qualities  of  compensation. 
"  My  dear  Mrs.  Daye,  that  was  doing  a  good 
deal  for  friendship,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

His  eyes  were  certainly  blue  and  expressive 
when  he  allowed  them  to  be,  his  hostess  thought, 
and  he  had  the  straight,  thin,  well-indicated  nose 
which  she  liked,  and  a  sensitive  mouth  for  a 
man.  His  work  as  part  of  the  great  intelligent 
managing  machine  of  the  Government  of  India 
overimpressed  itself  upon  the  stamp  of  scholar- 
ship Oxford  had  left  on  his  face,  which  had  the 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  2/ 

pallor  of  Bengal,  with  fatigued  lines  about  the 
eyes,  lines  that  suggested  to  Mr.  Ancram's 
friends  the  constant  reproach  of  over-exertion. 
A  light  moustache,  sufficiently  well-curled  and 
worldly,  effectually  prevented  any  tinge  of  as- 
ceticism which  might  otherwise  have  been 
characteristic,  and  placed  Mr.  Ancram  among 
those  who  discussed  Meredith,  had  an  expensive 
taste  in  handicrafts,  and  subscribed  to  the  Figaro 
Salon.  His  secretary's  stoop  -was  not  a  pro- 
nounced and  local  curve,  rather  a  general  thrust- 
ing forward  of  his  personality  which  was  fitting 
enough  in  a  scientific  investigator  ;  and  his  long, 
nervous,  white  hands  spoke  of  a  multitude  of 
well-phrased  Resolutions.  It  was  ridiculous, 
Mrs.  Daye  thought,  that  with  so  agreeable  a 
manner  he  should  still  convey  the  impression 
that  one's  interest  in  the  Vedic  Books  was  not 
of  the  least  importance.  It  must  be  that  she 
was  over-sensitive.  But  she  would  be  piqued 
notwithstanding.  Pique,  when  one  is  plump  and 
knows  how  to  hold  oneself,  is  more  effective  than 
almost  any  other  attitude. 

"  You   are   exactly   like    all   the   rest !      You 


28  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

think  that  no  woman  can  possibly  care  to  read 
anything  but  novels  !  Now,  as  a  matter  of  fact 
I  am  devoted  to  things  like  Vedic  Books.  If  I 
had  nothing  else  to  do  I  should  dig  and  delve 
in  the  archaic  from  morning  till  night." 

"  The  implication  being,"  returned  Mr.  An- 
cram  sweetly,  "  that  I  have  nothing  else  to 
do." 

Mrs.  Daye  compressed  her  lips  in  the  man- 
ner of  one  whose  patience  is  at  an  end.  "  It 
would  serve  you  perfectly  right,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  if  I  didn't  tell  you  what  a  long  review  of 
it  I  saw  the  other  day  in  one  of  the  home 
papers." 

Ancram  looked  up  with  an  almost  impercep- 
tible accession  of  interest. 

"  How  nice  !  "  he  said  lightly.  "  A  fellow  out 
here  always  feels  himself  in  luck  when  his  odds 
and  ends  get  taken  up  at  home.  You  don't  hap- 
pen to  remember  the  paper — or  the  date  ?  " 

"  I'm  almost  sure  it  was  the  Times"  Mrs. 
Daye  replied,  with  rather  an  accentuation  of  re- 
joiceful  zeal ;  "  but  Richard  can  tell  you.  It  was 
he  who  drew  my  attention  to  the  notice." 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  29 

Mr.  Ancram's  eyebrows  underwent  a  slight 
contraction.  "  Notice "  did  not  seem  to  be  a 
felicitous  word. 

"  Oh,  thanks,"  he  said.  "  Never  mind  ;  one 
generally  comes  across  those  things  sooner  or 
later." 

"  I  say,  Ancram,"  put  in  Mr.  St.  George,  who 
had  been  listening  on  Mrs.  Daye's  left,  "  you 
Asiatic  Society  fellows  won't  get  as  much  out 
of  Church  for  your  investigations  as  you  did  out 
of  Spence." 

Ancram  looked  fixedly  at  a  porcelain  cherub 
that  moored  a  boatful  of  pink-and-white  confec- 
tionery to  the  nearest  bank  of  the  Viceregal 
roses.  "  Sir  Griffiths  was  certainly  generous," 
he  said.  "  He  gave  Pierson  a  quarter  of  a  lakh, 
for  instance,  to  get  his  ethnological  statistics 
together.  It  was  easy  to  persuade  him  to  recog- 
nise the  value  of  these  things." 

"  It  won't  be  easy  to  get  this  man  to  recognise 
it,"  persisted  St.  George.  "  He's  the  sort  of 
fellow  who  likes  sanitation  better  than  Sanscrit. 
He's  got  a  great  scheme  on  for  improving  the 
village  water-supply  for  Bengal,  and  I  hear  he 


30  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

wants  to  reorganise  the  vaccination  business. 
Great  man  for  the  people  !  " 

"  Wants  to  spend  every  blessed  pice  on  the 
bloomin'  ryot,"  remarked  Captain  Delaine,  with 
humorous  resentment. 

"  Let  us  hope  the  people  will  be  grateful,"  said 
Ancram  vaguely. 

"  They  won't,  you  know,"  remarked  Rhoda 
Daye  to  Mr.  Pond.  "  They'll  never  know.  They 
are  like  the  cattle — they  plough  and  eat  and 
sleep  ;  and  if  a  tenth  of  them  die  of  cholera  from 
bad  water,  they  say  it  was  written  upon  their 
foreheads;  and  if  Government  cleans  the  tanks 
and  the  tenth  are  spared,  they  say  it  is  a  good 
year  and  the  gods  are  favourable." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Mr.  Pond  :  "  that's  very 
interesting." 

"  Isn't  it?  And  there's  lots  more  of  it — all  in 
the  Calcutta  newspapers,  Mr.  Pond :  you  should 
read  them  if  you  wish  to  be  informed."  And 
Mr.  Pond  thought  that  an  excellent  idea. 

When  a  Lieutenant-Governor  drops  into  the 
conversational  vortex  of  a  Calcutta  dinner-party 
he  circles  on  indefinitely.  The  measure  of  his 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  3! 

hospitality,  the  nature  of  his  tastes,  the  direction 
of  his  policy,  his  quality  as  a  master,  and  the 
measure  of  his  popularity,  are  only  a  few  of  the 
heads  under  which  he  is  discussed ;  while  his 
wife  is  made  the  most  of  separately,  with  equal 
thoroughness  and  precision.  Just  before  Mrs. 
Daye  looked  smilingly  at  Mrs.  St.  George,  and 
the  ladies  flocked  away,  some  one  asked  who 
Mrs.  Church's  friends  were  in  Calcutta,  anyway : 
she  seemed  to  know  hardly  any  one  person  more 
than  another — a  delightful  impartiality,  the  lady 
added,  of  course,  after  Lady  Spence's  favourit- 
ism. The  remark  fell  lightly  enough  upon  the 
air,  but  Lewis  Ancram  did  not  let  it  pass.  He 
looked  at  nobody  in  particular,  but  into  space : 
it  was  a  way  he  had  when  he  let  fall  anything 
definite. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  I  may  claim  to  be 
one.  My  pretension  dates  back  five  years — I 
used  to  know  them  in  Kaligurh.  I  fancy  Mrs. 
Church  will  be  appreciated  in  Calcutta.  She  is 
that  combination  which  is  so  much  less  rare  than 
it  used  to  be — a  woman  who  is  as  fine  as  she  is 
clever,  and  as  clever  as  she  is  charming." 


32  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

"  With  all  due  deference  to  Mr.  Ancram's 
opinion,"  remarked  Mrs.  Daye  publicly,  with 
one  hand  upon  the  banister,  as  the  ladies  went 
up  to  the  drawing-room,  "  I  should  not  call  Mrs. 
Church  a  fine  woman.  She's  much  too  slender — 
really  almost  thin  !  " 

"  My  dear  mummie,"  exclaimed  Rhoda,  as 
Mrs.  St.  George  expressed  her  entire  concur- 
rence," don't  be  stupid  !  He  didn't  mean  that." 

Later  Ancram  stepped  out  of  one  of  the  open 
French  windows  and  found  her  alone  on  the 
broad  verandah,  where  orchids  hung  from  the 
roof  and  big  plants  in  pots  made  a  spiky  gloom 
in  the  corners.  A  tank  in  the  garden  glistened 
motionless  below ;  the  heavy  fronds  of  a  clump 
of  sago  palms  waved  up  and  down  uncertainly 
in  the  moonlight.  Now  and  then  in  the  moist, 
soft  air  the  scent  of  some  hidden  temple  tree 
made  itself  felt.  A  cluster  of  huts  to  the  right 
in  the  street  they  looked  down  upon  stood  half- 
concealed  in  a  hanging  blue  cloud  of  smoke  and 
fog.  Far  away  in  the  suburbs  the  wailing  cry 
of  the  jackals  rose  and  fell  and  recommenced ; 
nearer  the  drub-drubbing  of  a  tom-tom  an- 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  33 

nounced  that  somewhere  in  the  bazar  they  kept 
a  marriage  festival.  But  for  themselves  and  the 
moonlight  and  the  shadow  of  the  creeper  round 
the  pillars,  the  verandah  was  quite  empty,  and 
through  the  windows  came  a  song  of  Mrs. 
Delaine's  about  love's  little  hour.  The  situation 
made  its  voiceless  demand,  and  neither  of  them 
were  unconscious  of  it.  Nevertheless  he,  light- 
ing a  cigarette,  asked  her  if  she  would  not  come 
in  and  hear  the  music ;  and  she  said  no — she 
liked  it  better  there  ;  whereat  they  both  kept 
the  silence  that  was  necessary  for  the  apprecia- 
tion of  Mrs.  Delaine's  song.  When  it  was  over, 
Rhoda's  terrier,  Buzz,  came  out  with  inquiring 
cordiality,  and  they  talked  of  the  growth  of  his 
accomplishments  since  Ancram  had  given  him 
to  her ;  and  then,  as  if  it  were  a  development  of 
the  subject,  Rhoda  said  : 

"  Mrs.  Church  has  a  very  interesting  face, 
don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  Very,"  Ancram  replied  unhesitatingly. 

"  She  looks  as  if  she  cared  for  beautiful  things. 
Not  only  pictures  and  things,  but  beautiful  con- 
ceptions— ideas,  characteristics." 


34  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

"  I  understand,"  Ancram  returned  :  "  she 
does." 

There  was  a  pause,  while  they  listened  to  the 
wail  of  the  jackals,  which  had  grown  wild  and 
high  and  tumultuous.  As  it  died  away,  Rhoda 
looked  up  with  a  little  smile. 

"  I  like  that,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  about  the  only 
thing  out  here  that  is  quite  irrepressible.  And 
—you  knew  her  well  at  Kaligurh?" 

"  I  think  I  may  say  I  did,"  Ancram  replied, 
tossing  the  end  of  his  cigarette  down  among 
the  hibiscus  bushes.  "  My  dear  girl,  you  must 
come  in.  There  is  nothing  like  a  seductive 
moonlight  night  in  India  to  give  one  fe- 
ver." 

"I  congratulate  you,"  said  Miss  Daye— and 
her  tone  had  a  defiance  which  she  did  not  intend, 
though  one  could  not  say  that  she  was  unaware 
of  its  cynicism—"  I  congratulate  you  upon  know- 
ing her  well.  It  is  always  an  advantage  to 
know  the  wife  of  the  Lieutenant-Governor  well. 
The  most  delightful  things  come  of  it— Com- 
missionerships,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  I  hope 
you  will  make  her  understand  the  importance 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  35 

of  the  Vedic  Books  in  their  bearing   upon   the 
modern  problems  of  government." 

"  You  are  always  asking  me  to  make  acknowl- 
edgments— you  want  almost  too  many  ;  but  since 
it  amuses  you,  I  don't  mind."  Rhoda  noted  the 
little  gleam  in  his  eyes  that  contradicted  this. 
"  Sanscrit  is  to  me  now  exactly  what  Greek 
was  at  Oxford — a  stepping-stone,  and  nothing 
more.  One  must  do  something  to  distinguish 
oneself  from  the  herd ;  and  in  India,  thank 
fortune,  it's  easy  enough.  There's  an  enormous 
field,  and  next  to  nobody  to  beat.  Bless  you, 
a  Commissariat  Colonel  can  give  himself  an 
aureole  of  scientific  discovery  out  here  if  he 
cares  to  try !  If  I  hadn't  taken  up  Sanscrit 
and  Hinduism,  I  should  have  gone  in  for  pa- 
laeontology, or  conchology,  or  folk-lore,  or  ferns. 
Anything  does :  only  the  less  other  people  know 
about  it  the  better ;  so  I  took  Sanscrit."  A 
combined  suggestion  of  humour  and  candour 
gradually  accumulated  in  Mr.  Ancram's  sen- 
tences, which  came  to  a  climax  when  he  added, 
"You  don't  think  it  very  original  to  discover 
that!" 


36  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

"  And  the  result  of  being  distinguished  from 
the  herd?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Well,  they 
don't  send  one  to  administer  the  Andamans  or 
Lower  Burmah,"  he  said.  "  They  conserve 
one's  intellectual  achievements  to  adorn  social 
centres  of  some  importance,  which  is  more 
agreeable.  And  then,  if  a  valuable  post  falls 
vacant,  one  is  not  considered  disqualified  for 
it  by  being  a  little  wiser  than  other  people. 
Come  now — there's  a  very  big  confession  for 
you !  But  you  mustn't  tell.  We  scientists 
must  take  ourselves  with  awful  seriousness  if 
we  want  to  be  impressive.  That's  the  part  that 
bores  one." 

Mr.  Ancram  smiled  down  at  his  betrothed 
with  distinct  good-humour.  He  was  under  the 
impression  that  he  had  spontaneously  given  his 
soul  an  airing — an  impression  he  was  fond  of. 
She  listened,  amused  that  she  could  evoke  so 
much,  and  returned  to  the  thing  he  had 
evaded. 

"  Between  the  Vedic  Books  and  Mrs.  Church," 
she  said,  "our  future  seems  assured." 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  37 

Ancram's  soul  retired  again,  and  shut  the 
door  with  a  click. 

"  That  is  quite  a  false  note,"  he  said  coolly : 
"  Mrs.  Church  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it." 


CHAPTER   III. 

IT  became  evident  very  soon  after  Miss 
Rhoda  Daye's  appearance  in  Calcutta  that  she 
was  not  precisely  like  the  other  young  ladies  in 
sailor  hats  and  cambric  blouses  who  arrived  at 
the  same  time.  For  one  superficial  thing,  any- 
body could  see  that  she  had  less  colour ;  and 
this  her  mother  mourned  openly — a  girl  de- 
pended so  entirely  for  the  first  season  on  her 
colour.  As  other  differences  became  obvious 
Mrs.  Daye  had  other  regrets,  one  of  them  being 
that  Rhoda  had  been  permitted  so  absolutely  to 
fashion  her  own  education.  Mrs.  Daye  had  not 
foreseen  one  trivial  result  of  this,  which  was 
that  her  daughter,  believing  herself  devoid  of 
any  special  talent,  refused  to  ornament  herself 
with  any  special  accomplishment.  This,  in  Mrs. 
Daye's  opinion,  was  carrying  self-depreciation 
and  reverence  for  achievement  and  all  that  sort 

38 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  39 

of  thing  a  great  deal  too  far :  a  girl  had  no  right 
to  expect  her  parents  to  present  her  to  the 
world  in  a  state  of  artistic  nudity.  It  was  not 
in  the  nature  of  compensation  that  she  under- 
stood the  situation  with  the  Amir  and  the  ambi- 
tions of  the  National  Congress ;  such  things 
were  almost  unmentionable  in  Calcutta  society. 
And  it  was  certainly  in  the  nature  of  aggravation 
that  she  showed,  after  the  first  month  of  it,  an 
inexplicable  indifference  to  every  social  oppor- 
tunity but  that  of  looking  on.  Miss  Daye  had  an 
undoubted  talent  for  looking  on ;  and  she  would 
often  exercise  it — mutely,  motionlessly,  half  hid- 
den behind  a  pillar  at  a  ball,  or  abandoned  in  a 
corner  after  dinner — until  her  mother  was  mor- 
tified enough  to  take  her  home.  Presently  it 
appeared  that  she  had  looked  on  sufficiently  to 
know  her  ground.  She  made  her  valuation  of 
society ;  she  picked  out  the  half-dozen  Anglo- 
Indian  types ;  it  may  be  presumed  that  she 
classified  her  parents.  She  still  looked  on,  but 
with  less  concentration :  she  began  to  talk.  She 
developed  a  liking  for  the  society  of  elderly 
gentlemen  of  eminence,  and  an  abhorrence  for 


40  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

that  of  their  wives,  which  was  considered  of 
doubtful  propriety,  until  the  Head  of  the  For- 
eign  Office  once  congratulated  himself  openly 
upon  sitting  next  her  at  dinner.  After  which 
she  was  regarded  with  indulgence,  it  was  said 
in  corners  that  she  must  be  clever,  subalterns 
avoided  her,  and  her  mother,  taking  her  cue 
unerringly,  figuratively  threw  up  her  hands  and 
asked  Heaven  why  she  of  all  people  should  be 
given  a  fin-de-sihle  daughter. 

Privately  Mrs.  Daye  tried  to  make  herself 
believe,  in  the  manner  of  the  Parisian  playwright, 
that  a  succh  d'estime  was  infinitely  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  the  plaudits  of  the  mob.  I  need  hardly 
say  that  she  was  wholly  successful  in  doing  so, 
when  Mr.  Lewis  Ancram  contributed  to  the 
balance  in  favour  of  this  opinion.  Mr.  Ancram 
was  observing  too :  he  observed  in  this  case 
from  shorter  and  shorter  distances,  and  finally 
allowed  himself  to  be  charmed  by  what  he  saw. 
Perhaps  that  is  not  putting  it  quite  strongly 
enough.  He  really  encouraged  himself  to  be 
thus  charmed.  He  was  of  those  who  find  in  the 
automatic  monotony  of  the  Indian  social  ma- 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  4I 

chine,  with  its  unvarying  individual — a  machine, 
he  was  fond  of  saying,  the  wheels  of  which  are 
kept  oiled  with  the  essence  of  British  Philistin- 
ism— a  burden  and  a  complaint.  In  London  he 
would  have  lived  with  one  foot  in  Mayfair  and 
the  other  in  the  Strand ;  and  there  had  been 
times  when  he  talked  of  the  necessity  of  chain- 
ing his  ambition  before  his  eyes  to  prevent  his 
making  the  choice  of  a  career  over  again, 
though  it  must  be  said  that  this  violent  pro- 
ceeding was  carried  out  rather  as  a  solace  to 
his  defrauded  capacity  for  culture  than  in  view 
of  any  real  danger.  He  had  been  accustomed 
to  take  the  annually  fresh  young  ladies  in  straw 
hats  and  cambric  blouses  who  appeared  in  the 
cold  weather  much  as  he  took  the  inevitable 
functions  at  Government  House — to  be  politely 
avoided,  if  possible;  if  not,  to  be  submitted  to 
with  the  grace  which  might  be  expected  from 
a  person  holding  his  office  and  drawing  his 
emoluments.  When  he  found  that  Rhoda  Daye 
was  likely  to  break  up  the  surface  of  his  blank 
indifference  to  evening  parties  he  fostered  the 
probability.  Among  all  the  young  ladies  in 


42  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

sailor  hats  and  cambric  blouses  he  saw  his  sin- 
gle chance  for  experience,  interest,  sensation ; 
and  he  availed  himself  of  it  with  an  accumu- 
lated energy  which  Miss  Daye  found  stimulat- 
ing enough  to  induce  her  to  exert  herself,  to  a 
certain  extent,  reciprocally.  She  was  not  inter- 
ested in  the  Hon.  Mr.  Lewis  Ancram  because  of 
his  reputation  :  other  men  had  reputations — repu- 
tations almost  as  big  as  their  paybills — who  did 
not  excite  her  imagination  in  the  smallest  degree. 
It  would  be  easy  to  multiply  accounts  upon 
which  Mr.  Ancram  did  not  interest  Miss  Daye, 
but  it  is  not  clear  that  any  result  woulcl  be  ar- 
rived at  that  way,  and  the  fact  remains  that 
she  was  interested.  From  this  quiet  point — she 
was  entirely  aware  of  its  advantage — she  con- 
templated Mr.  Ancram's  gradual  advance  along 
the  lines  of  attraction  with  a  feeling  very  like 
satisfaction.  She  had  only  to  contemplate  it. 
Ancram  contributed  his  own  impetus,  and 
reached  the  point  where  he  believed  his  affec- 
tions involved  with  an  artistic  shock  which  he 
had  anticipated  for  weeks  as  quite  divinely  en- 
joyable. She  behaved  amusingly  when  they 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  43 

were  engaged  :  she  made  a  little  comedy  of  it, 
would  be  coaxed  to  no  confessions  and  only 
one  vow — that,  as  they  were  to  go  through  life 
together,  she  would  try  always  to  be  agreeable. 
If  she  had  private  questionings  and  secret  alarms, 
she  hid  them  with  intrepidity ;  and  if  it  seemed 
to  her  to  be  anything  ridiculous  that  the  way- 
ward god  should  present  himself  behind  the 
careful  countenance  and  the  well-starched  shirt- 
front  of  early  middle-age,  holding  an  eyeglass 
in  attenuated  fingers,  and  mutely  implying  that 
he  had  been  bored  for  years,  she  did  not  betray 
her  impression.  The  thrall  of  their  engagement 
made  no  change  in  her;  she  continued  to  be 
the  same  demure,  slender  creature,  who  said 
unexpected  things,  that  she  had  been  before. 
That  he  had  covetable  new  privileges  did  not 
seem  to  make  much  difference ;  her  chief  value 
was  still  that  of  a  clever  acquaintance.  She 
would  grow  more  expensive  in  time,  he  thought 
vaguely ;  but  several  months  had  passed,  as  we 
have  seen,  without  this  result.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  had  been  occasions  when  he  fan- 
cied that  she  deliberately  disassociated  herself 


44  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

from  him  in  that  favourite  pursuit  of  observa- 
tion, in  order  to  obtain  a  point  of  view  which 
should  command  certain  intellectual  privacies 
of  his.  He  wondered  whether  she  would  take 
this  liberty  with  greater  freedom  when  they  were 
one  and  indivisible ;  and,  while  he  felt  it  absurd 
to  object,  he  wished  she  would  be  a  little  more 
communicative  about  what  she  saw. 

They  were  to  be  married  in  March,  when 
Ancram  would  take  a  year's  furlough,  and  she 
would  help  him  to  lave  his  stiffened  powers  of 
artistic  enjoyment  in  the  beauties  of  the  Par- 
thenon and  the  inspirations  of  the  Viennese 
galleries  and  the  charms  of  Como  and  Maggiore. 
They  talked  a  great  deal  of  the  satisfaction  they 
expected  to  realise  in  this  way.  They  went  over 
it  in  detail,  realising  again  and  again  that  it 
must  represent  to  him  compensation  for  years  of 
aridity  and  to  her  a  store  against  the  future 
likely  to  be  drawn  upon  largely.  Besides,  it 
was  a  topic  upon  which  they  were  quite  sure  of 
finding  mutual  understanding,  even  mutual  con- 
gratulation— an  excellent  topic. 

Meanwhile  Ancram   lived  with  Philip  Doyle 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  45 

in  Hungerford  Street  under  the  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances which  govern  Calcutta  bachelors. 
Doyle  was  a  barrister.  He  stood,  in  Calcutta, 
upon  his  ability  and  his  individuality,  and  as 
these  had  been  observed  to  place  him  in  familiar 
relations  with  Heads  of  Departments,  it  may  be 
gathered  that  they  gave  him  a  sufficient  eleva- 
tion. People  called  him  a  "  strong  "  man  because 
he  refused  their  invitations  to  dinner,  but  the 
statement  might  have  had  a  more  intelligent 
basis  and  been  equally  true.  It  would  have 
surprised  him  immensely  if  he  could  have 
weighed  the  value  of  his  own  opinions,  or  ob- 
served the  trouble  which  men  who  appropriated 
them  took  to  give  them  a  tinge  of  originality. 
He  was  a  survival  of  an  older  school,  certainly 
— people  were  right  in  saying  that.  He  had 
preserved  a  courtliness  of  manner  and  a  sincerity 
of  behaviour  which  suggested  an  Anglo-India 
that  is  mostly  lying  under  pillars  and  pyramids 
in  rank  Calcutta  cemeteries  now.  He  was  hos- 
pitable and  select — so  much  of  both  that  he 
often  experienced  ridiculous  annoyance  at  hav- 
ing asked  men  to  dinner  who  were  essentially  un- 


46  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

palatable  to  him.  His  sensitiveness  to  qualities 
in  personal  contact  was  so  great  as  to  be  a 
conspicuous  indication,  to  the  discerning  eye,  of 
Lewis  Ancram's  unbounded  tact. 

Circumstances  had  thrown  the  men  under  one 
roof,  and  even  if  the  younger  of  them  had  not 
made  himself  so  thoroughly  agreeable,  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  alter  the  arrange- 
ment. 

It  could  never  be  said  of  Lewis  Ancram  that 
he  did  not  choose  his  friends  with  taste,  and  in 
this  case  his  discrimination  had  a  foundation  of 
respect  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  freely 
mentioning.  His  admiration  of  Doyle  was 
generous  and  frank,  so  generous  and  frank  that 
one  might  have  suspected  a  virtue  in  the  expres- 
sion of  it.  Notwithstanding  this  implication,  it 
was  entirely  sincere,  though  he  would  occa- 
sionally qualify  it. 

"  I  often  tell  Doyle,"  he  said  once  to  Rhoda, 
"  that  his  independence  is  purely  a  matter  of  cir- 
cumstance. If  he  had  the  official  yoke  upon  his 
neck  he  would  kow-tow  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"  I  don't  believe  that,"  she  answered  quickly. 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A    LADY.  47 

"  Ah  well,  now  that  I  think  of  it  I  don't 
particularly  believe  it  myself.  Doyle's  the  salt 
of  the  earth  anyhow.  He  makes  it  just  possi- 
ble for  officials  like  myself  to  swallow  official- 
dom." 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,"  she  asked 
slowly,  "  to  wonder  what  he  thinks  of 
you  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  daresay  he  likes  me  well  enough. 
Irishmen  never  go  in  for  analysing  their  friends. 
At  all  events  we  live  together,  and  there  are 
no  rows." 

They  were  driving,  and  the  dogcart  flew  past 
the  ships  along  the  Strand — Ancram  liked  a  fast 
horse — for  a  few  minutes  in  silence.  Then  she 
had  another  question. 

"  Have  you  succeeded  in  persuading  Mr. 
Doyle  to — what  do  the  newspapers  say  ? — sup- 
port you  at  the  altar,  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  confound  him.  He  says  it  would  be 
preposterous  at  his  age — he's  not  a  year  older 
than  I  am  !  I  wonder  if  he  expects  me  to  ask 
Baby  Bramble,  or  one  of  those  little  boys  in  the 
Buffs !  Anyway  it  won't  be  Doyle,  for  he  goes 


48  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A    LADY. 

to  England,  end  of  February — to  get  out  of  it,  I 
believe." 

"  I'm  not  sorry,"  Rhoda  answered ;  but  it 
would  have  been  difficult  for  her  to  explain,  at 
the  moment,  why  she  was  not  sorry. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

"  I  DON'T  mind  telling  you,"  said  Philip 
Doyle,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe, 
"  that,  personally,  His  Acting  Honour  repre- 
sents to  me  a  number  of  objectionable  things. 
He  is  a  Radical,  and  a  Low  Churchman,  and 
a  Particularist.  He's  that  objectionable  ethical 
mixture,  a  compound  of  petty  virtues.  He  be- 
lieves this  earth  was  created  to  give  him  an 
atmosphere  to  do  his  duty  in  ;  and  he  does  it 
with  the  invincible  courage  of  short-sightedness 
combined  with  the  notion  that  the  ultimate 
court  of  appeal  for  eighty  million  Bengalis 
should  be  his  precious  Methodist  conscience. 
But  the  brute's  honest,  and  if  he  insists  on 
putting  this  University  foolishness  of  his 
through,  I'm  sorry  for  him.  He's  a  dead  man, 
politically,  the  day  it  is  announced." 

"  He  is,"  replied    Ancram,  concentrating  his 

49 


50  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

attention  on  a  match  and  the  end  of  his  cigar. 
"  There's — no  doubt — about  that." 

The  two  men  were  smoking  after  dinner, 
with  the  table  and  a  couple  of  decanters  be- 
tween  them.  Roses  drooped  over  the  bowl 
of  Cutch  silver  that  gleamed  in  the  middle 
of  the  empty  cloth,  and  a  lemon  leaf  or  two 
floated  in  the  finger-glass  at  Ancram's  elbow. 
He  threw  the  match  into  it,  and  looked 
across  at  Doyle  with  his  cigar  between  his 
teeth  in  the  manner  which  invites  further  dis- 
cussion. 

"  In  point  of  political  morality  I  suppose  he's 
right  enough " 

"  He  generally  is,"  Ancram  interrupted. 
"  He's  got  a  scent  for  political  morality  keen 
enough  to  upset  every  form  of  Government 
known  to  the  nineteenth  century." 

"  But  they  see  political  morality  through  an- 
other pair  of  spectacles  in  England.  To  with- 
draw State  aid  from  education  anywhere  at  this 
end  of  the  century  is  as  impracticable  as  it 
would  be  to  deprive  the  British  workman  of 
his  vote.  It's  retrogressive,  and  this  is  an  age 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  5  r 

which  will  admit  anything  except  a  mistake  of 
its  own." 

"  He  doesn't  intend  to  withdraw  State  aid 
from  education.  He  means  to  spend  the  money 
on  technical  schools." 

"  A  benevolent  intention.  But  it  won't  make 
the  case  any  better  with  the  Secretary  of  State. 
He  will  say  that  it  ought  to  be  done  without 
damaging  the  sacred  cause  of  higher  culture." 

"  Damn  the  sacred  cause  of  higher  culture  !  " 
replied  Ancram,  with  an  unruffled  countenance. 
"  What  has  it  done  out  here  ?  Filled  every 
sweeper's  son  of  them  with  an  ambition  to  sit 
on  an  office  stool  and  be  a  gentleman ! — created 
by  thousands  a  starveling  class  that  find  nothing 
to  do  but  swell  mass-meetings  on  the  Maidan 
and  talk  sedition  that  gets  telegraphed  from 
Peshawur  to  Cape  Comorin.  I  advertised  for 
a  baboo  the  other  day,  and  had  four  hundred 
applications  —  fifteen  rupees  a  month,  poor 
devils !  But  the  Dayes  were  a  fortnight  in 
getting  a  decent  cook  on  twenty." 

"  Bentinck  should  have  thought  of  that ;  it's 
too  late  now.  You  can't  bestow  a  boon  on  the 


52  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

masses  in  a  spirit  of  progressiveness  and  take  it 
away  sixty  years  later  in  a  spirit  of  prudence. 
It's  decent  enough  of  Church  to  be  willing  to 
bear  the  consequences  of  somebody  else's  blun- 
der ;  but  blunders  of  that  kind  have  got  to  take 
their  place  in  the  world's  formation  and  let  the 
ages  retrieve  them.  It's  the  only  way." 

"  Oh,  I  agree  with  you.  Church  is  an  ass  : 
he  ought  not  to  attempt  it." 

"  Why  do  you  fellows  let  him  ?  " 

Ancram  looked  in  Doyle's  direction  as  he 
answered — looked  near  him,  fixed  his  eyes,  with 
an  effect  of  taking  a  view  at  the  subject  round  a 
corner,  upon  the  other  man's  tobacco-jar.  The 
trick  annoyed  Doyle  ;  he  often  wished  it  were 
the  sort  of  thing  one  could  speak  about. 

"  Nobody  is  less  amenable  to  reason,"  he  said, 
"  than  the  man  who  wants  to  hit  his  head 
against  a  stone  wall,  especially  if  he  thinks  the 
world  will  benefit  by  his  inconvenience.  And, 
to  make  matters  worse,  Church  has  complicated 
the  thing  with  an  idea  of  his  duty  toward  the 
people  at  home  who  send  out  the  missionaries. 
He  doesn't  think  it  exactly  according  to  modern 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  53 

ethics  that  they  should  take  up  collections  in 
village  churches  to  provide  the  salvation  of  the 
higher  mathematics  for  the  sons  of  fat  bunnias 
in  the  bazar — who  could  very  well  afford  to  pay 
for  it  themselves." 

"  He  can't  help  that." 

Ancram  finished  his  claret.  "  I  believe  he 
has  some  notion  of  advertising  it.  And  after 
he  has  eliminated  the  missionary  who  teaches 
the  Georgics  instead  of  the  Gospels,  and  de- 
voted the  educational  grants  to  turning  the 
gentle  Hindoo  into  a  skilled  artisan,  he  thinks 
the  cause  of  higher  culture  may  be  pretty  much 
left  to  take  care  of  itself.  He  believes  we 
could  bleed  Linsettiah  and  Pattore  and  some 
of  those  chaps  for  endowments,  I  fancy,  though 
he  doesn't  say  so." 

"  Better  try  some  of  the  smaller  natives.  A 
maharajah  won't  do  much  for  a  C.  I.  E.  or  an 
extra  gun  nowadays  :  it  isn't  good  enough.  He 
knows  that  all  Europe  is  ready  to  pay  him  the 
honours  of  royalty  whenever  he  chooses  to  tie 
up  his  cooking-pots  and  go  there.  He'll  save 
his  money  and  buy  hand-organs  with  it,  or  pan- 


54  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

oramas,  or  sewing-machines.  Presently,  if  this 
adoration  of  the  Eastern  potentate  goes  on  at 
home,  we  shall  have  the  maharajah  whom  we 
propose  to  honour  receiving  our  proposition 
with  his  thumb  applied  to  his  nose  and  all  his 
fingers  out !  " 

Ancram  yawned.  "  Well,  it  won't  be  a  ques- 
tion of  negotiating  for  endowments  :  it  will  never 
come  off.  Church  will  only  smash  himself  over 
the  thing  if  he  insists  ;  and,"  he  added,  as  one 
who  makes  an  unprejudiced,  impartial  statement 
on  fatalistic  grounds,  "  he  will  insist.  I  should 
find  the  whole  business  rather  amusing  if,  as 
Secretary,  I  hadn't  to  be  the  mouthpiece  for  it." 
He  looked  at  his  watch.  "  Half-past  nine.  I 
suppose  I  ought  to  be  off.  You're  not  com- 
ing?" 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  To  Belvedere.     A  '  walk-round,'  I  believe." 

"Thanks:  I  think  not.  It  would  be  too  much 
bliss  for  a  corpulent  gentleman  of  my  years.  I 
remember — the  card  came  last  week,  and  I  gave 
it  to  Mohammed  to  take  care  of.  I  believe 
Mohammed  keeps  a  special  almirah  for  the  pur- 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  55 

pose ;  and  in  it,"  Mr.  Doyle  continued  gravely, 
"  are  the  accumulations  of  several  seasons.  He 
regards  them  as  a  trust  only  second  to  that  of 
the  Director  of  Records,  and  last  year  he  made 
them  the  basis  of  an  application  for  more  pay." 

"  Which  you  gave  him,"  laughed  Ancram, 
getting  into  his  light  overcoat  as  the  brougham 
rolled  up  to  the  door.  "  I  loathe  going ;  but  for 
me  there's  no  alternative.  There  seems  to  be  an 
Act  somewhere  providing  that  a  man  in  my 
peculiar  position  must  show  himself  in  society." 

"  So  long  as  you  hover  on  the  brink  of  matri- 
mony," said  the  other,  "  you  must  be  a  butterfly. 
Console  yourself :  after  you  take  the  plunge  you 
can  turn  ascidian  if  you  like." 

The  twinkle  went  out  of  Philip  Doyle's  eyes 
as  he  heard  the  carriage  door  shut  and  the 
wheels  roll  crunching  toward  the  gate.  He 
filled  his  pipe  again  and  took  up  the  Saturday 
Review.  Half  an  hour  later  he  was  looking 
steadily  at  the  wall  over  the  top  of  that  journal, 
considering  neither  its  leading  articles  nor  its 
reviews  nor  its  advertisements,  but  Mr.  Lewis 
Ancram's  peculiar  position. 


56  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

At  that  moment  Ancram  leaned  against  the 
wall  in  a  doorway  of  the  drawing-room  at  Bel- 
vedere, one  leg  lightly  crossed  over  the  other,  his 
right  hand  in  his  pocket,  dangling  his  eyeglass 
with  his  left.  It  was  one  of  the  many  casual 
attitudes  in  which  the  world  was  informed  that 
a  Chief  Secretary,  in  Mr.  Ancram 's  opinion,  had 
no  prescriptive  right  to  give  himself  airs.  He 
had  a  considering  look :  one  might  have  said  that 
his  mind  was  far  from  the  occasion — perhaps 
upon  the  advisability  of  a  tobacco  tax ;  but  this 
would  not  have  been  correct.  He  was  really 
thinking  of  the  quantity  and  the  quality  of  the 
people  who  passed  him,  and  whether  as  a  func- 
tion the  thing  could  be  considered  a  success. 
With  the  white  gleam  on  the  pillars,  and  the 
palms  everywhere,  and  the  moving  vista  of  well- 
dressed  women  through  long,  richly-furnished 
rooms  arranged  for  a  large  reception,  it  was 
certainly  pretty  enough  ;  but  there  was  still  the 
question  of  individuals,  which  had  to  be  deter, 
mined  by  such  inspection  as  he  was  bestowing 
upon  them.  It  would  have  been  evident  to  any, 
body  that  more  people  recognised  Ancram  than 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  57 

Ancram  recognised  ;  he  had  by  no  means  the  air 
of  being  on  the  look-out  for  acquaintances.  But 
occasionally  some  such  person  as  the  Head  of 
the  Telegraph  Department  looked  well  at  him 
and  said,  "  How  do,  Ancram  ?  "  with  the  effect  of 
adding  "  I  defy  you  to  forget  who  I  am  ! "  or  a 
lady  of  manner  gave  him  a  gracious  and  pro- 
nounced inclination,  which  also  said,  "  You  are 
the  clever,  the  rising  Mr.  Ancram.  You  haven't 
called  ;  but  you  are  known  to  despise  society.  I 
forgive  you,  and  I  bow."  One  or  two  Members 
of  Council  merely  vouchsafed  him  a  nod  as 
they  passed  ;  but  it  was  noticeably  only  Mem- 
bers of  Council  who  nodded  to  Mr.  Ancram. 
An  aide-de-camp  to  the  Viceroy,  however — a 
blue-eyed  younger  son  with  his  mind  seriously 
upon  his  duty — saw  Ancram  in  his  path,  and 
hesitated.  He  had  never  quite  decided  to  what 
extent  these  fellows  in  the  Bengal  Secretariat, 
and  this  one  in  particular,  should  be  recognised 
by  an  aide-de-camp ;  and  he  went  round  the 
other  way.  Presently  there  was  a  little  silken 
stir  and  rustle,  a  parting  of  the  ladies'  trains,  and 
a  lull  of  observation  along  both  sides  of  the  lane 


58  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

which  suddenly  formed  itself  among  the  people. 
His  Excellency  the  Viceroy  had  taken  his  early 
leave  and  was  making  his  departure.  Lord 
Scansleigh  had  an  undisguised  appreciation  of 
an  able  man,  and  there  was  some  definiteness  in 
the  way  he  stopped,  though  it  was  but  for  a 
moment,  and  shook  hands  with  Ancram,  who 
swung  the  eyeglass  afterwards  more  casually 
than  he  had  done  before.  The  aide-de-camp, 
following  after,  was  in  no  wise  rebuked.  What 
the  Viceroy  chose  to  do  threw  no  light  on  his 
difficulty.  He  merely  cast  his  eyes  upon  the 
floor,  and  his  fresh  coloured  countenance  ex- 
pressed a  respectfully  sad  admiration  for  the 
noble  manner  in  which  his  lord  discharged  every 
obligation  pertaining  to  the  Viceregal  office. 

The  most  privileged  hardly  cares  to  make 
demands  upon  his  hostess  as  long  as  she  has  a 
Viceroy  to  entertain,  and  Ancram  waited  until 
their  Excellencies  were  well  on  their  way  home, 
their  four  turbaned  Sikhs  trotting  after  them, 
before  he  made  any  serious  attempt  to  find  Mrs. 
Church.  A  sudden  and  general  easefulness  was 
observable  at  the  same  time.  People  began  to 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  59 

look  about  them  and  walk  and  talk  with  the  con- 
sciousness, that  it  was  no  longer  possible  that 
they  should  be  suspected  of  arranging  them- 
selves so  that  Lord  Scansleigh  must  bow.  The 
Viceroy  having  departed,  they  thought  about 
other  things.  She  was  standing,  when  presently 
he  made  his  way  to  her,  talking  to  Sir  William 
Scott  of  the  Foreign  Department,  and  at  the 
moment,  to  the  Maharajah  of  Pattore.  Ancram 
paused  and  watched  her  unperceived.  It  was 
like  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  a  picture  one 
technically  understands.  He  noted  with  satisfac- 
tion the  subtle  difference  in  her  manner  toward 
the  two  men,  and  how,  in  her  confidence  with 
the  one  and  her  condescending  recognition  of  the 
other's  dignity,  both  were  consciously  receiv- 
ing their  due.  He  noticed  the  colour  of  her  he- 
liotrope velvet  gown,  and  asked  himself  whether 
any  other  woman  in  the  room  could  possibly 
wear  that  shade.  Mentally  he  dared  the  other 
women  to  say  that  its  simplicity  was  over-dra- 
matic, or  that  by  the  charming  arrangement  of 
her  hair  and  her  pearls  and  the  yellowed  lace, 
that  fell  over  her  shoulders  Judith  Church  had 


60  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

made  herself  too  literal  a  representation  of  a 
great-grandmother  who  certainly  wore  none  of 
these  things.  He  paused  another  second  to  catch 
the  curve  of  her  white  throat  as  she  turned  her 
head  with  a  little  characteristic  lifting  of  her 
chin  ;  and  then  he  went  up  to  her.  The  definite 
purpose  that  appeared  in  his  face  was  enough  of 
itself  to  assert  their  intimacy — to  this  end  it  was 
not  necessary  that  he  should  drop  his  eyeglass. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  step  forward,  "how 

do  you  do  !  I  began  to  think Maharajah, 

when  you  are  invited  to  parties  you  always 
come,  don't  you  ?  Well,  this  gentleman  does  not 
always  come,  I  understand.  I  beg  you  will  ask 
a  question  about  it  at  the  next  meeting  of  the 
Legislative  Council.  The  Honourable  the  Chief 
Secretary  is  requested  to  furnish  an  explanation 
of  his  lamentable  failure  to  perform  his  duties 
toward  society." 

The  native  smiled  uncomfortably,  puzzled  at 
her  audacity.  His  membership  of  the  Bengal 
Legislative  Council  was  a  new  toy,  and  he  was 
not  sure  that  he  liked  any  one  else  to  play 
with  it. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  6t 

"  His  Highness  of  Pattore,"  said  Ancram, 
slipping  a  hand  under  the  fat  elbow  in  its  pink- 
and-gold  brocade,  "  would  be  the  very  last  fel- 
low to  get  me  into  a  scrape.  Wouldn't  you, 
Maharaj ! " 

His  Highness  beamed  affectionately  upon 
Ancram.  There  was,  at  all  events,  nothing  but 
flattery  in  being  taken  by  the  elbow  by  a  Chief 
Secretary.  "  Certainlie,"  he  replied — "  the  verrie 
last " ;  and  he  laughed  the  unctuous,  irre- 
sponsible laugh  of  a  maharajah,  which  is  accom- 
panied by  the  twinkling  of  pendant  emeralds  and 
the  shaking  of  personal  rotundities  which  cannot 
be  indicated. 

Sir  William  Scott  folded  his  arms  and  re- 
folded them,  balanced  himself  once  or  twice  on 
the  soles  of  his  shoes,  pushed  out  his  under-lip, 
and  retreated  in  the  gradual  and  surprised  way 
which  would  naturally  be  adopted  by  the 
Foreign  Department  when  it  felt  itself  left  out  of 
the  conversation.  The  Maharajah  stood  about 
uneasily  on  one  leg  for  a  moment,  and  then  with 
a  hasty  double  salaam  he  too  waddled  away. 
Mrs.  Church  glanced  after  his  retreating  figure — 


62  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

it  was  almost  a  perfect  oval — with  lips  prettily 
composed  to  seemly  gravity.  Then,  as  her  eyes 
met  Ancram's,  she  laughed  like  a  schoolgirl. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  go  away  !  I  mustn't  talk  to 
you.  I  shall  be  forgetting  my  part." 

"  You  are  doing  it  well.  Lady  Spence,  at 
this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  was  always  sur- 
rounded by  bank-clerks  and  policemen.  I  do  not 
observe  a  member  of  either  of  those  interesting 
species,"  he  said,  glancing  round  through  his 
eyeglass,  "  within  twenty  yards.  On  the  con- 
trary, an  expectant  Member  of  Council  on  the 
nearest  sofa,  the  Commander-in-Chief  hovering  in 
the  middle  distance,  and  a  fringe  of  Depart- 
mental Heads  on  the  horizon." 

"  I  do  not  see  any  of  them,"  she  laughed, 
looking  directly  at  Ancram.  "  We  are  going  to 
sit  down,  you  and  I,  and  talk  for  four  or  six 
minutes,  as  the  last  baboo  said  who  implored  an 
interview  with  my  husband  "  ;  and  Mrs.  Church 
sank,  with  just  a  perceptible  turning  of  her 
shoulder  upon  the  world,  into  the  nearest  arm- 
chair. It  was  a  wide  gilded  arm-chair,  cushioned 
in  deep  yellow  silk.  Ancram  thought,  as  she 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  63 

crossed  her  feet  and  leaned  her  head  against  the 
back  of  it,  that  the  effect  was  delicious. 

"  And  you  really  think  I  am  doing  it  well ! " 
she  said.  "  I  have  been  dying  to  know.  I  really 
dallied  for  a  time  with  the  idea  of  asking  one  of 
the  aides-de-camp.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,"  she 
said  confidentially,  "  though  I  order  them  about 
most  callously,  I  am  still  horribly  afraid  of  the 
aides-de-camp — in  uniform,  on  duty." 

"  And  in  flannels,  off  duty  ?  " 

"  In  flannels,  off  duty,  I  make  them  almond 
toffee  and  they  tell  me  their  love  affairs.  I  am 
their  sisterly  mother  and  their  cousinly  aunt. 
We  even  have  games  of  ball." 

"  They  are  nice  boys,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh 
of  resignation  :  "  I  daresay  they  deserve  it." 

There  was  an  instant's  silence  of  good  fellow- 
ship, and  then  she  moved  her  foot  a  little,  so 
that  a  breadth  of  the  heliotrope  velvet  took  on 
a  paler  light. 

"  Yes,"  he  nodded,  "  it  is  quite — regal." 

She  laughed,  flushing  a  little.  "  Really ! 
That's  not  altogether  correct.  It  ought  to  be 
only  officiating.  But  I  can't  tell  you  how  de- 


64  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

licious  it  is  to  be  obliged  to  wear  pretty 
gowns." 

At  that  moment  an  Additional  Member  of 
Council  passed  them  so  threateningly  that  Mrs. 
Church  was  compelled  to  put  out  a  staying 
hand  and  inquire  for  Lady  Bloomsbury,  who 
was  in  England,  and  satisfy  herself  that  Sir 
Peter  had  quite  recovered  from  his  bronchitis, 
and  warn  Sir  Peter  against  Calcutta's  cold- 
weather  fogs.  Ancram  kept  his  seat,  but  Sir 
Peter  stood"  with  stout  persistence,  rooted  in  his 
rights.  It  was  only  when  Mrs.  Church  asked  him 
whether  he  had  seen  the  new  portrait,  and  told 
him  where  it  was,  that  he  moved  on,  and  then 
he  believed  that  he  went  of  his  own  accord. 
By  the  time  an  Indian  official  arrives  at  an  Ad- 
ditional Membership  he  is  usually  incapable  of 
perceiving  anything  which  does  not  tend  to 
enhance  that  dignity. 

"You  have  given  two  of  my  six  minutes 
to  somebody  else,  remember,"  Ancram  said. 
For  an  instant  she  did  not  answer  him.  She 
was  looking  about  her  with  a  perceptible  air 
of  having,  for  the  moment,  been  oblivious  of 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  65 

something  it  was  her  business  to  remember. 
Almost  immediately  her  eye  discovered  John 
Church.  He  was  in  conversation  with  the 
Bishop,  and  apparently  they  were  listening  to 
each  other  with  deference,  but  sometimes 
Church's  gaze  wandered  vaguely  over  the  heads 
of  the  people  and  sometimes  he  looked  at  the 
floor.  His  hands  were  clasped  in  front  of  him, 
his  chin  was  so  sunk  in  his  chest  that  the  most 
conspicuous  part  of  him  seemed  his  polished 
forehead  and  his  heavy  black  eyebrows,  his  ex- 
pression was  that  of  a  man  who  submits  to  the 
inevitable.  Ancram  saw  him  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, and  in  the  silence  that  asserted  itself 
between  them  there  was  a  touch  of  embarrass- 
ment which  the  man  found  sweet.  He  felt  a 
foolish  impulse  to  devote  himself  to  turning 
John  Church  into  an  ornament  to  society. 

"  This  sort  of  thing "  he  suggested  con- 

doningly. 

"  Bores  him.  Intolerably.  He  grudges  the 
time  and  the  energy.  He  says  there  is  so  much 
to  do." 

"  He  is  quite  right." 


66  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

"  Oh,  don't  encourage  him  !  On  the  contrary 
— promise  me  something." 

"  Anything." 

"  When  you  see  him  standing  about  alone — 
he  is  really  very  absent-minded — go  up  and 
make  him  talk  to  you.  He  will  get  your  ideas 
— the  time,  you  see,  will  not  be  wasted.  And 
neither  will  the  general  public,"  she  added,  "  be 
confronted  with  the  spectacle  of  a  Lieutenant- 
Governor  who  looks  as  if  he  had  a  contempt 
for  his  own  hospitality." 

"  I'll  try.  But  I  hardly  think  my  ideas  upon 
points  of  administration  are  calculated  to  enliven 
a  social  evening.  And  don't  send  me  now. 
The  Bishop  is  doing  very  well." 

"The  Bishop?"  She  turned  to  him  again, 
with  laughter  in  the  dark  depths  of  her  eyes. 
"  I  realised  the  other  day  what  one  may  attain 
to  in  Calcutta.  His  Lordship  asked  me,  with 
some  timidity,  what  I  thought  of  the  length  of 
his  sermons !  Tell  me,  please,  who  is  this 
madam  bearing  down  upon  me  in  pink  and 
grey?" 

Ancram  was  on  his  feet.     "  It  is  Mrs.  Daye," 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  £/ 

he  said.  "  People  who  come  so  late  ought  not 
to  insist  upon  seeing  you." 

"  Mrs.  Daye  !  Oh,  of  course  ;  your "  But 

Mrs.  Daye  was  clasping  her  hostess's  hand. 
"And  Miss  Daye,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Church, 
looking  frankly  into  the  face  of  the  girl  behind, 
"  whom  I  have  somehow  been  defrauded  of 
meeting  before.  I  have  a  great  many  congrat- 
ulations to — divide,"  she  went  on  prettily,  glanc- 
ing at  Ancram.  "  Mr.  Ancram  is  an  old  friend 
of  ours." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Miss  Daye.  Her  man- 
ner suggested  that  at  school  such  acknowledg- 
ments had  been  very  carefully  taught  her. 

"  My  dear,  you  should  make  a  pretty  curtsey," 
her  mother  said  jocularly,  and  then  looked  at 
Rhoda  with  astonishment  as  the  girl,  with  an 
unmoved  countenance,  made  it. 

Ancram  looked  uncomfortable,  but  Mrs. 
Church  cried  out  with  vivacity  that  it  was 
charming — she  was  so  glad  to  find  that  Miss 
Daye  could  unbend  to  a  stranger;  and  Mrs. 
Daye  immediately  stated  that  she  must  hear 
whether  the  good  news  was  true  that  Mrs. 


68  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

Church  had  accepted  the  presidency — president- 
ship (what  should  one  say  ?) — of  the  Lady  Duf- 
ferin  Society.  Ah !  that  was  delightful — now 
everything  would  go  smoothly.  Poor  dear  Lady 
Spence  found  it  far  too  much  for  her !  Mrs. 
Daye  touched  upon  a  variety  of  other  matters 
as  the  four  stood  together,  and  the  gaslights 
shone  down  upon  the  diamond  stars  in  the 
women's  hair,  and  the  band  played  on  the  veran- 
dah behind  the  palms.  Among  them  was  the 
difficulty  of  getting  seats  in  the  Cathedral  in 
the  cold  weather,  and  the  fascinating  prospect 
of  having  a  German  man-of-war  in  port  for  the 
season,  and  that  dreadful  frontier  expedition 
against  the  Nagapis ;  and  they  ran,  in  the  end, 
into  an  allusion  to  Mrs.  Church's  delightful 
Thursday  tennises. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  Mrs.  Church  replied,  as  the  lady 
gave  utterance  to  this,  with  her  dimpled  chin 
thrust  over  her  shoulder,  in  the  act  of  depar- 
ture: "you  must  not  forget  my  Thursdays. 
And  you,"  she  said  to  Rhoda,  with  a  directness 
which  she  often  made  very  engaging — "you 
will  come  too,  I  hope?" 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  69 

"  Oh,  yes,  thank  you,"  the  girl  answered, 
with  her  neat  smile :  "  I  will  come  too — with 
pleasure." 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  with  them  ? "  Mrs. 
Church  exclaimed  a  moment  later. 

Ancram  looked  meditatively  at  the  chande- 
lier. "  We  are  not  exactly  a  demonstrative 
couple,"  he  said.  "  She  likes  a  decent  reticence, 
I  believe — in  public.  I'll  find  them  presently." 

They  were  half  a  mile  on  their  way  home 
when  he  began  to  look  for  them ;  and  Mrs. 
Daye  had  so  far  forgotten  herself  as  to  com- 
ment unfavourably  upon  his  behaviour. 

"  My  dear  mummie,"  her  daughter  responded, 
"  you  don't  suppose  I  want  to  interfere  with  his 
amusements ! " 


CHAPTER    V. 

A  BAZAR  had  been  opened  in  aid  of  a  Cause. 
The  philanthropic  heart  of  Calcutta,  laid  bare, 
discloses  many  Causes,  and  during-  the  cold 
weather  their  commercial  hold  upon  the  com- 
munity is  as  briskly  maintained  as  it  may  be 
consistently  with  the  modern  doctrine  of  the 
liberty  of  the  subject.  The  purpose  of  this 
bazar  was  to  bring  the  advantages  of  the 
piano  and  feather-stitch  and  Marie  Bashkirtseff 
to  young  native  ladies  of  rank.  It  had  been  for 
some  time  obvious  that  young  native  ladies  of 
rank  were  painfully  behind  the  van  of  modern 
progress.  It  was  known  that  they  were  not  in 
the  habit  of  spending  the  golden  Oriental  hours 
in  the  search  for  wisdom  as  the  bee  obtains 
honey  from  the  flowers :  they  much  preferred 
sucking  their  own  fingers,  cloyed  with  sweet- 
meats from  the  bazar.  Yet  a  few  of  them  had 


70 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^r 

tasted  emancipation.  Their  husbands  allowed 
them  to  show  their  faces  to  the  world.  Of 
one,  who  had  been  educated  in  London,  it  was 
whispered  that  she  wore  stays,  and  read  books 
in  three  languages  besides  Sanscrit,  and  ate  of 
the  pig  !  These  the  memsahibs  fastened  upon 
and  infected  with  the  idea  of  elevating  their 
sisters  by  annual  appeals  to  the  public  based 
on  fancy  articles.  Future  generations  of  Aryan 
lady-voters,  hardly  as  yet  visible  in  the  efful- 
gence of  all  that  is  to  come,  will  probably  fail  to 
understand  that  their  privileges  were  founded, 
towards  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century,  on 
an  antimacassar  ;  but  thus  it  will  have  been. 

The  wife  of  the  Lieutenant-Governor  had 
opened  the  bazar.  She  had  done  it  in  black 
lace  and  jet,  which  became  her  exceedingly, 
with  a  pretty  little  speech,  which  took  due  ac- 
count of  the  piano  and  feather-stitch  and  Marie 
Bashkirtseff  under  more  impressive  names.  She 
had  driven  there  with  Lady  Scott.  The  way 
was  very  long  and  very  dusty  and  very  native, 
which  includes  several  other  undesirable  charac- 
teristics ;  and  Lady  Scott  had  beguiled  it  with 


72  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

details  of  an  operation  she  had  insisted  on  wit- 
nessing at  the  Dufferin  Hospital  for  Women. 
Lady  Scott  declared  that,  holding  the  position 
she  did  on  the  Board,  she  really  felt  the  re- 
sponsibility of  seeing  that  things  were  properly 
done,  but  that  henceforth  the  lady-doctor  in 
charge  should  have  her  entire  confidence.  "  I 
only  wonder,"  said  Mrs.  Church,  "  that,  holding 
the  position  you  do  on  the  Board,  you  didn't 
insist  on  performing  the  operation  yourself " : 
and  her  face  was  so  grave  that  Lady  Scott  felt 
flattered  and  deprecated  the  idea. 

Then  they  had  arrived  and  walked  with  cir- 
cumstance through  the  little  desultory  crowd  of 
street  natives  up  the  strip  of  red  cloth  to  the 
door,  and  there  been  welcomed  by  three  or 
four  of  the  very  most  emancipated,  with  two 
beautiful,  flat,  perfumed  bouquets  of  pink-and- 
white  roses  and  many  suffused  smiles.  And 
then  the  little  speech,  which  gave  Mrs.  Gasper 
of  the  High  Court  the  most  poignant  grief,  in 
that  men,  on  account  of  the  unemancipated, 
were  excluded  from  the  occasion ;  she  would 
simply  have  given  anything  to  have  had  her 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  73 

husband  hear  it.  After  which  Mrs.  Church  had 
gone  from  counter  to  counter,  with  her  duty 
before  her  eyes.  She  bought  daintily,  choosing 
Dacca  muslins  and  false  gods,  brass  plaques  from 
Persia  and  embroidered  cloths  from  Kashmir. 
A  dozen  or  two  of  the  unemancipated  pressed 
softly  upon  her,  chewing  betel,  and  appraising 
the  value  of  her  investments,  and  little  Mrs. 
Gasper  noted  them  too  from  the  other  side  of 
the  room.  Lady  Scott  was  most  kind  in  show- 
ing dear  Mrs.  Church  desirable  purchases,  and 
made,  herself,  conspicuously  more  than  the  wife 
of  the  Lieutenant-Governor.  On  every  hand  a 
native  lady  said,  "  Buy  something ! "  with  an 
accent  less  expressive  of  entreaty  than  of  re- 
sentful expectation.  One  of  the  emancipated 
went  behind  a  door  and  made  up  the  total  of 
Mrs.  Church's  expenditure.  She  came  out  again 
looking  discontented  :  Lady  Spence  the  year  be- 
fore had  spent  half  as  much  again. 

Mrs.  Church  felt  as  she  drove  away  that  she 
had  left  behind  her  an  injury  which  might 
properly  find  redress  under  a  Regulation. 

She  was  alone,  Lady  Scott  having  to  go  on  to 


74  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

a  meeting  of  the  "  Board  "  with  Mrs.  Gasper. 
The  disc  of  pink-and-white  roses  rolled  about 
with  the  easy  motion  of  the  barouche,  on  the 
opposite  seat.  It  was  only  half-past  four,  and  the 
sun  was  still  making  strong  lines  with  the  tawdry 
flat-roofed  yellow  shops  that  huddled  along  the 
crowded  interminable  streets.  She  looked  out 
and  saw  a  hundred  gold-bellied  wasps  hovering 
over  a  tray  of  glistening  sweetmeats.  Next  door 
a  woman  with  her  red  cloth  pulled  over  her 
head,  and  her  naked  brown  baby  on  her  hip, 
paused  and  bought  a  measure  of  parched  corn 
from  a  bunnia,  who  lolled  among  his  grain  heaps 
a  fat  invitation  to  hunger.  Then  came  the 
square  dark  hole  of  Abdul  Rahman,  where  he  sat 
in  his  spectacles  and  sewed,  with  his  long  lean 
legs  crossed  in  front  of  him,  and  half  a  dozen  red- 
beaked  love-birds  in  a  wicker  cage  to  keep  him 
company.  And  then  the  establishment  of  Sad- 
danath  Mookerjee,  announcing  in  a  dazzling 
fringe  of  black  letters  : 


PAINS    FEVERANDISEASES   CURED 


WHILE    YOU    WAIT 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  75 

She  looked  at  it  all  as  she  rolled  by  with  a  little 
tender  smile  of  reconnaissance.  The  old  fascina- 
tion never  failed  her;  the  people  and  their 
doings  never  became  common  facts.  Neverthe- 
less she  was  very  tired.  The  crowd  seethed 
along  in  the  full  glare  of  the  afternoon,  hawking, 
disputing,  gesticulating.  The  burden  of  their 
talk — the  naked  coolies,  the  shrill-jabbering 
women  with  loads  of  bricks  upon  their  heads,  the 
sleek  baboos  in  those  European  shirts  the  nether 
hem  of  which  no  canon  of  propriety  has  ever 
taught  them  to  confine — the  burden  of  their  talk 
reached  her  where  she  sat,  and  it  was  all  of 
paisa*  and  rupia,  the  eternal  dominant  note  of 
the  bazar.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  tried  to  put 
herself  into  relation  with  a  life  bounded  by  the 
rim  of  a  copper  coin.  She  was  certainly  very 
tired.  When  she  looked  again  a  woman  stooped 
over  one  of  the  city  standpipes  and  made  a  cup 
with  her  hand  and  gave  her  little  son  to  drink. 
He  was  a  very  beautiful  little  son,  with  a  string 
of  blue  beads  round  his  neck  and  a  silver  anklet 

*  Halfpence. 


76  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

on  each  of  his  fat  brown  legs,  and  as  he  caught 
her  hand  with  his  baby  fingers  the  mother  smiled 
over  him  in  her  pride. 

Judith  Church  suddenly  leaned  back  among 
her  cushions  very  close  to  tears.  "  It  would 
have  been  better,"  she  said  to  herself — "  so  much 
better,"  as  she  opened  her  eyes  widely  and  tried 
to  think  about  something  else.  There  was  her 
weekly  dinner-party  of  forty  that  night,  and  she 
was  to  go  down  with  the  Bishop.  Oh,  well ! 
that  was  better  than  Sir  Peter  Bloomsbury.  She 
hoped  Captain  Thrush  had  not  forgotten  to  ask 
some  people  who  could  sing — and  not  Miss 
Nellie  Vansittart.  She  smiled  a  little  as  she 
thought  how  Captain  Thrush  had  made  Nellie 
Vansittart's  pretty  voice  an  excuse  for  asking  her 
and  her  people  twice  already  this  month.  She 
must  see  that  Captain  Thrush  was  not  on  duty 
the  afternoon  of  Mrs.  Vansittart's  musicale.  She 
felt  indulgent  towards  Captain  Thrush  and 
Nellie  Vansittart ;  she  give  that  young  lady 
plenary  absolution  for  the  monopoly  of  her 
lieutenant  on  the  Belvedere  Thursdays ;  she 
thought  of  them  by  their  Christian  names. 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  77 

Then  to-morrow — to-morrow  she  opened  the  caft 
chantant  for  the  Sailors'  Home,  and  they  dined  at 
the  Fort  with  the  General.  On  Wednesday 
there  was  the  Eurasian  Female  Orphans'  prize- 
giving,  and  the  dance  on  board  the  Boetia.  On 
Friday  a  "Lady  Dufferin"  meeting — or  was  it 
the  Dhurrumtollah  Self-Help  Society,  or  the 
Sisters'  Mission  ? — she  must  look  it  up  in  her 
book.  And,  sandwiched  in  somewhere,  she 
knew  there  was  a  German  bacteriologist  and  a 
lecture  on  astronomy.  She  put  up  both  her 
slender  hands  in  her  black  gloves  and  yawned ; 
remembering  at  the  same  time  that  it  was  ten 
days  since  she  had  seen  Lewis  Ancram.  Her 
responsibilities,  when  he  mocked  at  them  with 
her,  seemed  light  and  amusing.  He  gave  her 
strength  and  stimulus :  she  was  very  frank  with 
herself  in  confessing  how  much  she  depended 
upon  him. 

The  carriage  drew  up  on  one  side  of  the 
stately  width  of  Chowringhee.  That  is  putting 
it  foolishly ;  for  Chowringhee  has  only  one  side 
to  draw  up  at — the  other  is  a  footpath  border- 
ing the  great  green  Maidan,  which  stretches  on 


78  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

across  to  the  river's  edge,  and  is  fringed  with 
masts  from  Portsmouth  and  Halifax  and  Ispahan. 

When  the  sun  goes  down  behind  them But 

the  sun  had  not  gone  down  when  Mrs.  Church 
got  out  of  her  carriage  and  went  up  the  steps  of 
the  School  of  Art:  it  was  still  burnishing  the 
red  bricks  of  that  somewhat  insignificant  build- 
ing, and  lying  in  yellow  sheets  over  the  vast 
stucco  bulk  of  the  Indian  Museum  on  one  side, 
and  playing  among  the  tree-tops  in  the  garden 
of  the  Commissioner  of  Police  on  the  other. 
Anglo-Indian  aspirations,  in  their  wholly  sub- 
ordinate, artistic  form,  were  gathered  together  in 
an  exhibition  here,  and  here  John  Church,  who 
was  inspecting  a  gaol  at  the  other  end  of  Cal- 
cutta, had  promised  to  meet  his  wife  at  five 
o'clock. 

The  Lieutenant-Governor  had  been  looking 
forward  to  this :  it  was  so  seldom,  he  said,  that 
he  found  an  opportunity  of  combining  a  duty 
and  a  pleasure.  Judith  Church  remembered 
other  Art  Exhibitions  she  had  seen  in  India,  and 
thought  that  one  category  was  enough. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  room  a  native  gen- 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  79 

tleman  stood  transfixed  with  admiration  before  a 
portrait  of  himself  by  his  own  son.  Two  or 
three  ladies  with  catalogues  darted  hurriedly, 
like  humming-birds,  from  water-colour  to  water- 
colour.  A  cadaverous  planter  from  the  Terai, 
who  turned  out  sixty  thousand  pounds  of  good 
tea  and  six  yards  of  bad  pictures  annually,  talked 
with  conviction  to  an  assenting  broker  with  his 
thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  about 
the  points  of  his  "  Sunset  View  of  Kinchinjunga," 
that  hung  among  the  oils  on  the  other  wall. 
There  was  no  one  else  in  the  room  but  Mr. 
Lewis  Ancram,  who  wore  a  straw  hat  and  an  air 
of  non-expectancy,  and  looked  a  sophisticated 
twenty-five. 

For  a  moment,  although  John  Church  was 
the  soul  of  punctuality,  it  did  not  seem  remark- 
able to  Mrs.  Church  that  her  husband  had  failed 
to  turn  up.  Ancram  had  begun  to  explain, 
indeed,  before  it  occurred  to  her  to  ask ;  and 
this,  when  she  remembered  it,  brought  a  delicate 
flush  to  her  cheeks  which  stayed  there,  and 
suggested  to  the  Chief  Secretary  the  pleasant 
recollection  of  a  certain  dewy  little  translucent 


go  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

flower  that  grew  among  the  Himalayan  mosses 
very  high  up. 

"  It  was  a  matter  His  Honour  thought  really 
required  looking  into — clear  evidence,  you  know, 
that  the  cholera  was  actually  being  communi- 
cated inside  the  gaol — and  when  I  offered  to 
bring  his  apologies  on  to  you  I  honestly  be- 
lieve he  was  delighted  to  secure  another  hour 
of  investigation." 

"  John  works  atrociously  hard,"  she  replied  ; 
and  when  he  weighed  this  afterward,  as  he  had 
begun  to  weigh  the  things  she  said,  he  found  in  it 
appreciably  more  concern  for  John's  regrettable 
habit  of  working  atrociously  hard  than  vexation 
at  his  failure  to  keep  their  engagement. 

They  walked  about  for  five  minutes  and 
looked  at  the  aspirations.  Ancram  remembered 
Rhoda  Daye's  hard  little  sayings  on  the  opening 
day,  and  reflected  that  some  women  could  laugh 
with  a  difference.  Mrs.  Church  did  it  with 
greatest  freedom,  he  noticed,  at  the  prize  pic- 
tures. For  the  others  she  had  compunction, 
and  she  regarded  the  "  Sunset  View  of  Kinchin- 
junga "  with  a  smile  that  she  plainly  atoned  for 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  $1 

by  an  inward  tear.  "  Don't !  "  she  said,  looking 
round  the  walls,  as  he  invested  that  peak  with 
the  character  of  a  strawberry  ice.  "  It  means 
all  the  bloom  of  their  lives,  poor  things.  At  all 
events  it's  ideality,  it  isn't " 

"  Pig-sticking !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  softly.  "  If  I  knew  what  in 
the  world  to  do  with  it,  I  would  buy  that  '  Kin- 
chin.' But  its  ultimate  disposal  does  present 
difficulties." 

"  I  don't  think  you  would  have  any  right  to 
do  that,  you  know.  You  couldn't  be  so  dis- 
honest with  the  artist.  Who  would  sell  the 
work  of  his  hand  to  be  burned !  " 

He  was  successful  in  provoking  her  appreci- 
ation. "  You  are  quite  right,"  she  said.  "  The 
patronage  of  my  pity  !  You  always  see  !  " 

"  I  have  bought  a  picture,"  Ancram  went  on, 
"  by  a  fellow  named  Martin,  who  seems  to  have 
sent  it  out  from  England.  It's  nothing  great, 
but  I  thought  it  was  a  pity  to  let  it  go  back. 
That  narrow  one,  nearest  to  the  corner." 

"  It  is  good  enough  to  escape  getting  a  prize," 
she  laughed.  "  Yes,  I  like  it  rather — a  good  deal 


82  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

— very  much  indeed.  I  wish  I  were  a  critic  and 
could  tell  you  why.  It  will  be  a  pleasure  to 
you  ;  it  is  so  green  and  cool  and  still." 

Mr.  Ancram's  purchase  was  of  the  type  that 
is  growing  common  enough  at  the  May  exhibi- 
tions— a  bit  of  English  landscape  on  a  dull  day 
towards  evening,  fields  and  a  bank  with  trees  on 
it,  a  pool  with  water-weeds  in  it,  the  sky  crowd- 
ing down  behind  and  standing  out  in  front  in 
the  quiet  water.  Perhaps  it  lacked  imagina- 
tion— there  was  no  young  woman  leaning  out 
of  the  canoe  to  gather  water-lilies — but  it  had 
been  painted  with  a  good  deal  of  knowledge. 

Mr.  James  Springgrove  at  the  moment  was 
talking  about  it  to  another  gentleman.  Mr. 
Springgrove  was  one  of  Calcutta's  humourists. 
He  was  also  a  member  of  the  Board  of  Revenue ; 
and  for  these  reasons,  combined  with  his  sub- 
scription, it  was  originally  presumed  that  Mr. 
Springgrove  understood  Art.  People  generally 
thought  he  did,  because  he  was  a  Director  and 
a  member  of  the  Hanging  Committee,  but  this 
was  a  mistake.  Mr.  Springgrove  brought  his 
head  as  nearly  as  possible  into  a  line  with  the 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  83 

other  gentleman's  head,  from  which  had  issued, 
in  weak  commendation,  the  statement  that  No. 
223  reminded  it  of  home. 

"  If  you  asked  what  it  reminded  me  of,"  said 
Mr.  Springgrove,  clapping  the  other  on  the 
back,  "  I  should  say  verdigris,  sir — verdigris." 

Mrs.  Church  and  the  Honourable  Mr.  Lewis 
Ancram  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  and  smiled 
as  long  as  there  was  any  excuse  for  smiling. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  not  a  critic,"  he  said. 
She  was  verging  toward  the  door.  "  What  are 
you  going  to  do  now? " 

"Afterward — we  meant  to  drive  to  Hastings 
House.  John  thought  there  would  be  time.  It 

is  quite  near  Belvedere,  you  know.  But 

And  I  shall  not  have  another  free  afternoon  for 
a  fortnight." 

They  went  out  in  silence,  past  the  baboo  who 
sat  behind  a  table  at  the  receipt  of  entrance 
money,  and  down  the  steps.  The  syce  opened 
the  carriage  door,  and  Mrs.  Church  got  in. 
There  was  a  moment's  pause,  while  the  man 
looked  questioningly  at  Ancram,  still  holding 
open  the  door. 


84  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

"  If  he  invites  himself,"  said  Judith  inwardly, 
with  the  intention  of  self-discipline  ;  and  the  rest 
was  hope. 

"  Is  there  any  reason ?  "  he  asked,  with 

his  foot  on  the  step ;  and  it  was  quite  unneces- 
sary that  he  should  add  "  against  my  coming  ?  " 

"  No — there  is  no  reason."  Then  she  added, 
with  a  visible  effort  to  make  it  the  commonplace 
thing  it  was  not,  "  Then  you  will  drive  out  with 
me,  and  I  shall  see  the  place  after  all  ?  How 
nice  !  " 

They  rolled  out  into  the  gold-and-green  after- 
noon life  of  the  Maidan,  along  wide  pipal- 
shadowed  roads,  across  a  bridge,  through  a  lane 
or  two  where  the  pariahs  barked  after  the  car- 
riage and  the  people  about  the  huts  stared, 
shading  their  eyes.  There  seemed  very  little 
to  say.  They  thought  themselves  under  the 
spell  of  the  pleasantness  of  it — the  lifting  of 
the  burden  and  the  heat  of  the  day,  the  little 
wind  that  shook  the  fronds  of  the  date  palms 
and  stole  about  bringing  odours  from  where 
the  people  were  cooking,  the  unyoked  oxen, 
the  hoarse  home-going  talk  of  the  crows  that 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  85 

flew  city-ward  against  the  yellow  sky  with  a 
purple  light  on  their  wings. 

"  Let  the  carriage  stay  here,"  Judith  said,  as 
they  stopped  beside  a  dilapidated  barred  gate. 
"  I  want  to  walk  to  the  house." 

A  salaaming  creature  in  a  dhoty  hurried  out  of 
a  clump  of  bamboos  in  the  corner  and  flung 
open  the  gate.  It  seemed  to  close  again  upon 
the  world.  They  were  in  an  undulating  waste 
that  had  once  been  a  stately  pleasure-ground, 
and  it  had  a  visible  soul  that  lived  upon  its 
memories  and  was  content  in  its  abandonment. 
It  was  so  still  that  the  great  teak  leaves,  twisted 
and  discoloured  and  full  of  holes  like  battered 
bronze,  dropping  singly  and  slowly  through  the 
mellow  air,  fell  at  their  feet  with  little  rustling 
cracks. 

"  What  a  perfection  of  silence  !  "  Judith  ex- 
claimed softly  ;  and  then  some  vague  perception 
impelled  her  to  talk  of  other  things — of  her 
dinner-party  and  Nellie  Vansittart. 

Ancram  looked  on,  as  it  were,  at  her  conver- 
sation for  a  moment  or  two  with  his  charming 
smile.  Then,  "  Oh,  dear  lady,"  he  broke  in,  "  let 


86  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

them  go — those  people.  They  are  the  vulgar 
considerations  of  the  time  which  has  been — 
which  will  be  again.  But  this  is  a  pause — 
made  for  us" 

She  looked  down  at  the  rusty  teak-leaves,  and 
he  almost  told  her,  as  he  knocked  them  aside, 
how  poetic  a  shadow  clung  round  her  eyelids. 
The  curve  of  the  drive  brought  them  to  the 
old  stucco  mansion,  dreaming  quietly  and  open- 
eyed  over  its  great  square  porch  of  the  Calcutta 
of  Nuncomar  and  Philip  Francis. 

"  It  broods,  doesn't  it  ?  "  said  Judith  Church, 
standing  under  the  yellow  honeysuckle  of  the 
porch.  "  Don't  you  wish  you  could  see  the 
ghost ! " 

The  gatekeeper  reappeared,  and  stood  offer- 
ing them  each  a  rose. 

"  This  gentleman,"  replied  Ancram,  "  will 
know  all  about  the  ghost.  He  probably  makes 
his  living  out  of  Warren  Hastings,  in  the 
tourist  season.  Without  doubt,  he  says,  there 
is  a  bhut,  a  very  terrible  bhut,  which  lives  in  the 
room  directly  over  our  heads  and  wears  iron 
boots.  Shall  we  go  and  look  for  it  ?  " 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  87 

Half  way  up  the  stairs  Ancram  turned  and 
saw  the  gatekeeper  following  them.  "  You  have 
leave  to  go,"  he  said  in  Hindustani. 

At  the  top  he  turned  again,  and  found  the 
man  still  salaaming  at  their  heels.  "  Jao  / "  he 
shouted,  with  a  threatening  movement,  and  the 
native  fled. 

"  It  is  preposterous,"  he  said  apologetically  to 
Mrs.  Church,  "  that  one  should  be  dogged  every- 
where by  these  people." 

They  explored  the  echoing  rooms,  and  looked 
down  the  well  of  the  ruined  staircase,  and  de- 
cided that  no  ghost  with  the  shadow  of  a  title 
to  the  property  could  let  such  desirable  premises 
go  unhaunted.  They  were  in  absurdly  good 
spirits.  They  had  not  been  alone  together 
for  a  fortnight.  The  sky  was  all  red  in  the 
west  as  they  stepped  out  upon  the  wide 
flat  roof,  and  the  warm  light  that  was  left 
seemed  to  hang  in  mid-air.  The  spires  and 
domes  of  Calcutta  lay  under  a  sulphur-coloured 
haze,  and  the  palms  on  the  horizon  stood  in 
filmy  clouds.  The  beautiful  tropical  day  was 
going  out. 


88  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

"  We  must  go  in  ten  minutes,"  said  Judith, 
sitting  down  on  the  low  mossy  parapet. 

"  Back  into  the  world."  He  reflected  hastily 
and  decided.  Up  to  this  time  Rhoda  Daye  had 
been  a  conventionality  between  them.  He  had 
a  sudden  desire  to  make  her  the  subject  of  a 
confidence — to  explain,  perhaps  to  discuss,  any- 
how to  explain. 

"  Tell  me,  my  friend,"  he  said,  making  a  pat- 
tern on  the  lichen  of  the  roof  with  his  stick, 
"  what  do  you  think  of  my  engagement  ?  " 

She  looked  up  startled.  It  was  as  if  the  ques- 
tion had  sprung  at  her.  She  too  felt  the  need 
of  a  temporary  occupation,  and  fell  upon  her  rose. 

"  You  had  my  congratulations  a  long  time 
ago,"  she  said,  carefully  shredding  each  petal 
into  three. 

"  Don't !  "  he  exclaimed  impatiently  :  "  I'm 
serious !  " 

"  Well,  then — it  is  not  a  fair  thing  that  you 
are  asking  me.  I  don't  know  Miss  Daye.  I 
never  shall  know  her.  To  me  she  is  a  little 
marble  image  with  a  very  pretty  polish." 

"  And  to  me  also,"  he  repeated,  seizing  her 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  89 

words  :  "  she  is  a  little  marble  image  with  a  very 
pretty  polish."  He  put  an  unconscious  demand 
for  commiseration  into  his  tone.  Doubtless  he 
did  not  mean  to  go  so  far,  but  his  inflection 
added,  "  And  I've  got  to  marry  her  !  " 

"  To  you — to  you  !  "  She  plucked  aimlessly 
at  her  rose,  and  searched  vainly  for  something 
which  would  improve  the  look  of  his  situation. 
But  the  rush  of  this  confidence  had  torn  up 
commonplaces  by  the  roots.  She  felt  it  beating 
somewhere  about  her  heart ;  and  her  concern, 
for  the  moment,  in  hearing  of  his  misfortune, 
was  for  herself. 

"  The  ironical  part  of  it  is,"  he  went  on,  very 
pale  with  the  effort  of  his  candour,  "  that  I  was 
blindly  certain  of  finding  her  sympathetic.  You 
know  what  one  means  by  that  in  a  woman.  I 
wanted  it,  just  then.  I  seemed  to  have  arrived 
at  a  crisis  of  wanting  it.  I  made  ludicrously 
sure  of  it.  If  you  had  been  here,"  he  added 
with  conviction,  "  it  would  never  have  happened." 

She  opened  her  lips  to  say  "  Then  I  wish  I 
had  been  here,"  but  the  words  he  heard  were, 
"  People  tell  me  she  is  very  clever." 


£0  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

"  Oh,"  he  said  bitterly,  "  she  has  the  qualities 
of  her  defects,  no  doubt.  But  she  isn't  a  woman 
— she's  an  intelligence.  Conceive,  I  beg  of  you, 
the  prospect  of  passing  one's  life  in  conjugal 
relations  with  an  intelligence !  " 

Judith  assured  herself  vaguely  that  this  bru- 
tality of  language  had  its  excuse.  She  could 
have  told  him  very  fluently  that  he  ought  not 
to  marry  Rhoda  Daye  under  any  circumstances, 
but  something  made  it  impossible  that  she  should 
say  anything  of  the  sort.  She  strove  with  the 
instinct  for  a  moment,  and  then,  as  it  overthrew 
her,  she  looked  about  her  shivering.  The  even- 
ing chill  of  December  had  crept  in  and  up  from 
the  marshes  ;  one  or  two  street  lamps  twinkled 
out  in  the  direction  of  the  city;  light  white 
levels  of  mist  had  begun  to  spread  themselves 
among  the  trees  in  the  garden  below  them. 

"We  must  go,"  she  said,  rising  hurriedly: 
"  how  suddenly  it  has  grown  cold ! "  And  as 
she  passed  before  him  into  the  empty  house  he 
saw  that  her  face  was  so  drawn  that  even  he 
could  scarcely  find  it  beautiful. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  MUMMIE,"  remarked  Miss  Daye,  as  she 
pushed  on  the  fingers  of  a  new  pair  of  gloves 
in  the  drawing-room,  "  the  conviction  grows 
upon  me  that  I  shall  never  become  Mrs. 
Ancram." 

"  Rhoda,  if  you  talk  like  that  you  will  cer- 
tainly bring  on  one  of  my  headaches,  and  it  will 
be  the  third  in  a  fortnight  that  I'll  have  to 
thank  you  for.  Did  I  or  did  I  not  send  home 
the  order  for  your  wedding  dress  by  last  mail  ?  " 

"  You  did,  mummie.  But  you  could  always 
advertise  it  in  the  local  papers,  you  know. 
Could  you  fasten  this?  *  By  Private  Sale — A 
Wedding  Dress  originally  intended  for  the  Secre- 
tariat. Ivory  Satin  and  Lace.  Skirt  thirty-nine 
inches,  waist  twenty-one.  Warranted  never  been 
worn.1.  Thanks  so  much  !  " 

"  Rhoda !  you  are  capable  of  anything " 

7  91 


Q2  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

"Of  most  things,  mummie,  I  admit.  But  I 
begin  to  fear,  not  of  that ! " 

"Are  you  going  to  break  it  off?  There  he 
is  this  minute!  Don't  let  him  come  in  here, 
dear — he  would  know  instantly  that  we  had  been 
discussing  him.  You  have  upset  me  so !  " 

"  He  shan't."  Miss  Daye  walked  to  the  door. 
"  You  are  not  to  come  any  farther,  my  dear  sir," 
said  she  to  the  Honourable  Mr.  Ancram  among 
the  Japanese  pots  on  the  landing:  "  mummie's 
going  to  have  a  headache,  and  doesn't  want  you. 
I'm  quite  ready ! "  She  stood  for  a  moment  in 
the  doorway,  her  pretty  shoulders  making  ad- 
mirably correct  lines,  in  a  clinging  grey  skirt 
and  silver  braided  zouave,  that  showed  a  charm- 
ing glimpse  of  blue  silk  blouse  underneath,  but- 
toning her  second  glove.  Ancram  groaned 
within  himself  that  he  must  have  proposed  to 
her  because  she  was  chic.  Then  she  looked 
back.  "  Don't  worry,  mummie.  I'll  let  you 
know  within  a  fortnight.  You  won't  have  to 
advertise  it  after  all — you  can  countermand  the 
order  by  telegraph  !  "  Mrs.  Daye,  on  the  sofa, 
threw  up  her  hands  speechlessly,  and  her  eyes 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A    LADY.  93 

when  her  daughter  finally  left  the  room  were 
round  with  apprehension. 

Ancram  had  come  to  take  his  betrothed  for 
a  drive  in  his  dog-cart.  It  is  a  privilege  Calcutta 
offers  to  people  who  are  engaged :  they  are  per- 
mitted to  drive  about  together  in  dog-carts. 
The  act  has  the  binding  force  of  a  public  con- 
fession. Mr.  Ancram  and  Miss  Daye  had  taken 
advantage  of  it  in  the  beginning.  By  this  time 
it  would  be  more  proper  to  say  that  they  were 
taking  refuge  in  it. 

He  had  seen  Mrs.  Church  several  times  since 
the  evening  on  which  he  had  put  her  into  her 
carriage  at  the  gates  of  Hastings  House,  and  got 
into  his  own  trap  and  driven  home  with  a  feel- 
ing which  he  analysed  as  purified  but  not  re- 
signed. She  had  been  very  quiet,  very  self-con- 
tained, apparently  content  to  be  gracious  and 
effective  in  the  gown  of  the  occasion ;  but  once 
or  twice  he  fancied  he  saw  a  look  of  waiting,  a 
gleam  of  expectancy,  behind  her  eyes.  It  was 
this  that  encouraged  him  to  ask  her,  at  the  first 
opportunity,  whether  she  did  not  think  he  would 
be  perfectly  justified  in  bringing  the  thing  to  an 


94  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

end.  She  answered  him,  with  an  unalterable 
look,  that  she  could  not  help  him  in  that  de- 
cision ;  and  he  brought  away  a  sense  that  he 
had  not  obtained  the  support  on  which  he  had 
depended.  This  did  not  prevent  him  from 
arriving  very  definitely  at  the  decision  in  ques- 
tion unaided.  Nothing  could  be  more  obvious 
than  that  the  girl  did  not  care  for  him ;  and, 
granting  this,  was  he  morally  at  liberty,  from  the 
girl's  own  point  of  view,  to  degrade  her  by  a 
marriage  which  was,  on  her  side,  one  of  pure 
ambition  ?  If  her  affections  had  been  involved  in 

the   remotest   degree but   he    shrugged   his 

shoulders  at  the  idea  of  Rhoda  Daye's  affections. 
He  wi'shed  to  Heaven,  like  any  schoolboy,  that 
she  would  fall  in  love  with  somebody  else,  but 
she  was  too  damned  clever  to  fall  in  love  with 
anybody.  The  thing  would  require  a  little 
finessing ;  of  course  the  rupture  must  come 
from  her.  There  were  things  a  man  in  his 
position  had  to  be  careful  about.  But  with  a 
direct  suggestion Nothing  was  more  obvi- 
ous than  that  she  did  not  care  for  him.  He 
would  make  her  say  so.  After  that,  a  direct 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  95 

suggestion  would  be  simple — and  wholly  justi- 
fiable. These  were  Mr.  Lewis  Ancram's  reflec- 
tions as  he  stood,  hat  in  hand,  on  Mrs.  Daye's 
landing.  They  were  less  involved  than  usual, 
but  in  equations  of  personal  responsibility  Mr. 
Ancram  liked  a  formula.  By  the  intelligent 
manipulation  of  a  formula  one  could  so  often 
eliminate  the  personal  element  and  transfer  the 
responsibility  to  the  other  side. 

The  beginning  was  not  auspicious. 

"  Is  that  le  dernier  cri?  "  he  asked,  looking  at 
her  hat  as  she  came  lightly  down  the  steps. 

"  Papa's  ?  Poor  dear !  yes.  It  was  forty 
rupees,  at  Phelps's.  You'll  find  me  extravagant 
— but  horribly ! — especially  in  hats.  I  adore 
hats ;  they're  such  conceptions,  such  ideas !  I 
mean  to  insist  upon  a  settlement  in  hats — three 
every  season,  in  perpetuity." 

They  were  well  into  the  street  and  half-way 
to  Chowringhee  before  he  found  the  remark,  at 
which  he  forced  himself  to  smile,  that  he  sup- 
posed a  time  would  arrive  when  her  affections  in 
millinery  would  transfer  themselves  to  bonnets. 
The  occasion  was  not  propitious  for  suggestions 


96  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

based  on  emotional  confessions.  The  broad 
roads  that  wind  over  the  Maidan  were  full  of 
gaiety  and  the  definite  facts  of  smart  carriages 
and  pretty  bowing  women.  The  sun  caught  the 
tops  of  the  masts  in  the  river,  and  twinkled 
there ;  it  mellowed  the  pillars  of  the  bathing- 
ghats,  and  was  also  reflected  magnificently  from 
the  plate-glass  mirrors  with  which  Ram  Das 
Mookerjee  had  adorned  the  sides  of  his  ba- 
rouche. A  white  patch  a  mile  away  resolved 
itself  into  a  mass  of  black  heads  and  draped 
bodies  watching  a  cricket  match.  Mynas  chat- 
tered by  the  wayside,  stray  notes  of  bugle  prac- 
tice came  crisply  over  the  walls  of  the  Fort ; 
there  was  an  effect  of  cheerfulness  even  in  the 
tinkle  of  the  tram  bells.  If  the  scene  had  re- 
quired any  further  touch  of  high  spirits,  it  was 
supplied  in  the  turn-out  of  the  Maharajah  of 
Thuginugger,  who  drove  abroad  in  a  purple  vel- 
vet dressing  gown,  with  pink  outriders.  Ancram 
had  a  fine  susceptibility  to  atmospheric  effect, 
and  it  bade  him  talk  about  the  Maharajah  of 
Thuginugger. 

"  That  chap   Ezra,  the    Simla  diamond    mer- 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  97 

chant,  told  me  that  he  went  with  the  Mahara- 
jah through  his  go-downs  once.  His  Highness 
likes  pearls.  Ezra  saw  them  standing  about  in 
bucketsful." 

"Common  wooden  buckets?" 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  How  satisfying  !     Tell  me  some  more." 

"  There  isn't  any  more.  The  rest  was  be- 
tween Ezra  and  the  Maharajah.  I  dare  say  there 
was  a  margin  of  profit  somewhere.  What  queer 
weather  they  seem  to  be  having  at  home !  " 

"  It's  delicious  to  live  in  a  place  that  hasn't 
any  weather — only  a  permanent  fervency.  I  like 
this  old  Calcutta.  It's  so  wicked  and  so  rich 
and  so  cheerful.  People  are  born  and  burned 
and  born  and  burned,  and  nothing  in  the  world 
matters.  Their  nice  little  stone  gods  are  so  easy 
to  please,  too.  A  handful  of  rice,  a  few  marigold 
chains,  a  goat  or  two :  hardly  any  of  them  ask 
more  than  that.  And  the  sun  shines  every  day 
— on  the  just  man  who  has  offered  up  his  goat, 
and  on  the  unjust  man  who  has  eaten  it  instead." 

She  sat  up  beside  him,  her  slender  figure 
swaying  a  little  with  the  motion  of  the  cart,  and 


^8  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

looked  about  her  with  a  light  in  her  grey  eyes 
that  seemed  the  reflection  of  her  mood.  He 
thought  her  chatter  artificial ;  but  it  was  genuine 
enough.  She  always  felt  more  than  her  usual 
sense  of  irresponsibility  with  him  in  their  after- 
noon drives.  The  world  lay  all  about  them  and 
lightened  their  relation ;  he  became,  as  a  rule, 
the  person  who  was  driving,  and  she  felt  at 
liberty  to  become  the  person  who  was  talking. 

"  There ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  three  or  four 
coolie  women  filed,  laughing,  up  to  a  couple  of 
round  stones  under  a  pipal  tree  by  the  roadside, 
and  took  their  brass  lotas  from  their  heads  and 
carefully  poured  water  over  the  stones.  "  Fancy 
one's  religious  obligations  summed  up  in  a  cook- 
ing-potful  of  Hughli  water !  Are  those  stones 
sacred  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  The  author  of  '  The  Modern  Influence  of 
the  Vedic  Books,' '  she  suggested  demurely, 
"  should  be  quite  sure.  He  should  have  left  no 
stone  unturned." 

She  regarded  him  for  a  moment,  and,  observ- 
ing his  preoccupation,  just  perceptibly  lifted  her 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND    A    LADY.  gg 

eyebrows.  Then  she  went  on :  "  But  perhaps 
big  round  stones  under  pipal  trees  that  like 
libations  come  in  the  second  volume.  When 
does  the  second  volume  appear?" 

"  Not  until  Sir  Griffiths  Spence  comes  out 
again  and  this  lunatic  goes  back  to  Hassimabad, 
I  fancy.  I  want  an  appropriation  for  some 
further  researches  first." 

The  most  enthusiastic  of  Mr.  Ancram's  ad- 
mirers acknowledged  that  he  was  not  always 
discreet. 

"  And  he  won't  give  it  to  you — this  lunatic  ?  " 

"  Not  a  pice." 

"  Then,"  she  said,  with  a  ripple  of  laughter, 
"  he  must  be  a  fool !  " 

She  was  certainly  irritating  this  afternoon. 
Ancram  gave  his  Waler  as  smart  a  cut  as  he 
dared,  and  they  dashed  past  Lord  Napier,  sitting 
on  his  intelligent  charger  in  serious  bronze  to 
all  eternity,  and  rounded  the  bend  into  the 
Strand.  The  brown  river  tore  at  its  heaving 
buoys ;  the  tide  was  racing  out.  The  sun  had 
dipped,  and  the  tall  ships  lay  in  the  after-glow 
in  twos  and  threes  and  congeries  along  the  bank, 


100  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

along  the  edge  of  Calcutta,  until  in  the  curving 
distance  they  became  mere  suggestions  of  one 
another  and  a  twilight  of  tilted  masts.  Under 
their  keels  slipped  great  breadths  of  shining 
water.  Against  the  glow  on  it  a  country-boat, 
with  its  unwieldy  load  of  hay,  looked  like  a  float- 
ing barn.  On  the  indistinct  other  side  the  only 
thing  that  asserted  itself  was  a  factory  chimney. 
They  talked  of  the  eternal  novelty  of  the  river, 
and  the  eternal  sameness  of  the  people  they  met ; 
and  then  he  lapsed  again. 

Rhoda  looked  down  at  the  bow  of  her  slipper. 
"  Have  you  got  a  headache  ?  "  she  asked.  The 
interrogation  was  one  of  cheerful  docility. 

"  Thanks,  no.  I  beg  your  pardon  :  I'm  afraid 
I  was  inexcusably  preoccupied." 

"  Would  it  be  indiscreet  to  ask  what  about  ? 
Don't  you  want  my  opinion  ?  I  am  longing  to 
give  you  my  opinion." 

"  Your  opinion  would  be  valuable." 

Miss  Daye  again  glanced  down  at  her  slipper. 
This  time  her  pretty  eyelashes  shaded  a  ray  of 
amused  perception.  "  He  thinks  he  can  do  it 
himself,"  she  remarked  privately.  "  He  is  quite 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  IOI 

ready  to  give  himself  all  the  credit  of  getting 
out  of  it  gracefully.  The  amount  of  flattery 
they  demand  for  themselves,  these  Secreta- 
ries ! " 

"  A  premium  on  my  opinion ! "  she  said. 
"  How  delightful !  " 

Ancram  turned  the  Waler  sharply  into  the 
first  road  that  led  to  the  Casuerina  Avenue. 
The  Casuerina  Avenue  is  almost  always  poetic, 
and  might  be  imagined  to  lend  itself  very  effect- 
ively, after  sunset,  to  the  funeral  of  a  sentiment 
which  Mr.  Ancram  was  fond  of  describing  to 
himself  as  still-born.  The  girl  beside  him  noted 
the  slenderness  of  his  foot  and  the  excellent  cut 
of  his  grey  tweed  trousers.  Her  eyes  dwelt 
upon  the  nervously  vigorous  way  he  handled 
the  reins,  and  her  glance  of  light  bright  inquiry 
ascertained  a  vertical  line  between  his  eyebrows. 
It  was  the  line  that  accompanied  the  Honour- 
able Mr.  Ancram's  Bills  in  Council,  and  it  indi- 
cated a  disinclination  to  compromise.  Miss 
Daye,  fully  apprehending  its  significance,  re- 
garded him  with  an  interest  that  might  almost 
be  described  as  affectionate.  She  said  to  herself 


102  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

that  he  would  bungle.  She  was  rather  sorry  for 
him.  And  he  did. 

"  I  should  be  glad  of  your  opinion  of  our 
relation,"  he  said — which  was  very  crude. 

"  I  think  it  is  charming.  I  was  never  more 
interested  in  my  life ! "  she  declared  frankly, 
bringing  her  lips  together  in  the  pretty  compo- 
sure with  which  she  usually  told  the  vague  little 
lie  of  her  satisfaction  with  life. 

"  Does  that  sum  up  your  idea  of — of  the  possi- 
bilities of  our  situation?"  He  felt  that  he  was 
doing  better. 

"  Oh  no !  There  are  endless  possibilities  in 
our  situation — mostly  stupid  ones.  But  it  is  a 
most  agreeable  actuality." 

"  I  wish,"  he  said  desperately,  "  that  you 
would  tell  me  just  what  the  actuality  means  to 
you." 

They  were  in  the  Avenue  row,  and  the  Waler 
had  been  allowed  to  drop  into  a  walk.  The 
after-glow  still  lingered  in  the  soft  green  duski- 
ness over  their  heads ;  there  was  light  enough 
for  an  old  woman  to  see  to  pick  up  the  fallen 
spines  in  the  grass ;  the  nearest  tank,  darkling 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A    LADY. 


103 


in  the  gathering  gloom  of  the  Maidan,  had  not 
yet  given  up  his  splash  of  red  from  over  the 
river.  He  looked  at  her  intently,  and  her  eyes 
dropped  to  the  thoughtful  consideration  of  the 
crone  who  picked  up  spines.  It  might  have 
been  that  she  blushed,  or  it  might  have  been 
some  effect  of  the  after-glow.  Ancram  inclined 
to  the  latter  view,  but  his  judgment  could  not 
be  said  to  be  impartial. 

"  Dear  Lewis !  "  she  answered  softly,  "  how 
very  difficult  that  would  be  !  " 

In  the  sudden  silence  that  followed,  the  new 
creaking  of  the  Waler's  harness  was  perceptible. 
Ancram  assured  himself  hotly  that  this  was  sim- 
ple indecency,  but  it  was  a  difficult  thing  to  say. 
He  was  still  guarding  against  the  fatality  of 
irritation  when  Rhoda  added  daintily : 

"  But  I  don't  see  why  you  should  have  a 
monopoly  of  catechising.  Tell  me,  sir — I've 
wanted  to  know  for  ever  so  long — what  was  the 
first,  the  very  first  thing  you  saw  in  me  to  fall 
in  love  with?" 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  HONOURABLE  MR.  ANCRAM'S  ideal  pol- 
icy toward  the  few  score  million  subjects  of  the 
Queen-Empress  for  whose  benefit  he  helped  to 
legislate,  was  a  paternalism  somewhat  highly 
tempered  with  the  exercise  of  discipline.  He 
had  already  accomplished  appreciable  things  for 
their  advantage,  and  he  intended  to  accomplish 
more.  It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  intelli- 
gibly all  that  he  had  done;  besides,  his  tasks 
live  in  history.  The  publications  of  the  Gov- 
ernment of  India  hold  them  all,  and  something 
very  similar  may  be  found  in  the  record  which 
every  retired  civilian  of  distinction  cherishes  in 
leather,  behind  the  glass  of  his  bookcases  in 
Brighton  or  Bournemouth.  It  would  therefore 
be  unnecessary  as  well. 

It  was  Mr.  Ancram's  desire  to  be  a  conspicu- 
ous benefactor — this  among  Indian  administrators 

104 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  IO5 

is  a  matter  of  business,  and  must  not  be  smiled 
at  as  a  weakness — and  in  very  great  part  he  had 
succeeded.  The  fact  should  be  remembered  in 
connection  with  his  expressed  opinion — it  has 
been  said  that  he  was  not  always  discreet — that 
the  relatives  in  the  subordinate  services  of  trou- 
blesome natives  should  be  sent,  on  provocation, 
to  the  most  remote  and  unpleasant  posts  in  the 
province.  To  those  who  understand  the  ramifi- 
cations of  cousinly  connection  in  the  humbler 
service  of  the  sircar,  the  detestation  of  exile  and 
the  claims  of  family  affection  in  Bengal,  the 
efficacy  of  this  idea  for  promoting  loyalty  will 
appear.  It  was  Mr.  Ancram's  idea,  but  he  de- 
spaired of  getting  it  adopted.  Therefore  he 
talked  about  it.  Perhaps  upon  this  charge  he 
was  not  so  very  indiscreet  after  all. 

It  will  be  observed  that  Mr.  Ancram's  policy 
was  one  of  exalted  expediency.  This  will  be 
even  more  evident  when  it  is  understood  that, 
in  default  of  the  opportunity  of  coercing  the 
subject  Aryan  for  his  highest  welfare,  Mr.  An- 
cram  conciliated  him.  The  Chief  Secretary 
had  many  distinguished  native  friends.  They 


I06  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

were  always  trying  to  make  him  valuable 
presents.  When  he  returned  the  presents  he 
did  it  in  such  a  way  that  the  bond  of  their 
mutual  regard  was  cemented  rather  than  other- 
wise — cemented  by  the  tears  of  impulsive  Ben- 
gali affection.  He  had  other  native  friends  who 
were  more  influential  than  distinguished.  They 
spoke  English  and  wrote  it,  most  of  them.  They 
created  the  thing  which  is  quoted  in  Westmin- 
ster as  "  Indian  Public  Opinion."  They  were 
in  the  van  of  progress,  and  understood  all  the 
tricks  for  moving  the  wheels.  The  Govern- 
ment of  India  in  its  acknowledged  capacity  as 
brake  found  these  gentlemen  annoying ;  but 
Mr.  Ancram,  since  he  could  not  imprison 
them,  offered  them  a  measure  of  his  sympathy. 
They  quite  understood  that  it  was  a  small 
measure,  but  there  is  a  fascination  about  the 
friendship  of  a  Chief  Secretary,  and  they  often 
came  to  see  him.  They  did  not  bring  him 
presents,  however ;  they  knew  very  much  bet- 
ter than  that. 

Mohendra    Lall    Chuckerbutty    was    one    of 
these    inconspicuously    influential   friends.      Mo- 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  IO/ 

hendra  was  not  a  maharajah :  he  was  only  a 
baboo,  which  stands,  like  "  Mr."  for  hardly  any- 
thing at  all.  To  say  that  he  was  a  graduate 
of  the  Calcutta  University  is  to  acknowledge 
very  little ;  he  was  as  clever  before  he  ma- 
triculated as  he  was  after  he  took  his  degree. 
But  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  he  was 
the  editor  and  proprietor  of  the  Bengal  Free 
Press;  that  was  the  distinction  upon  which, 
for  the  moment,  he  was  insisting  himself. 
The  Bengal  Free  Press  was  a  voice  of  the  peo- 
ple— a  particularly  aggressive  and  pertinacious 
voice.  It  sold  for  two  pice  in  the  bazar,  and 
was  read  by  University  students  at  the  rate 
of  twenty-five  to  each  copy.  It  was  regularly 
translated  for  the  benefit  of  the  Amir  of  Af- 
ghanistan, the  Khan  of  Kelat,  and  such  other 
people  as  were  interested  in  knowing  how  in- 
solent sedition  could  be  in  Bengal  with  safety ; 
and  it  lay  on  the  desk  of  every  high  official 
in  the  Province.  Its  advertisements  were  very 
funny,  and  its  editorial  English  was  more 
fluent  than  veracious :  but  when  it  threw  mud 
at  the  Viceroy,  and  called  the  Lieutenant- 


108  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

Governor  a  contemptible  tyrant,  and  reminded 
the  people  that  their  galls  were  of  the  yoke 
of  the  stranger,  there  was  no  mistaking  the 
direction  of  its  sentiment. 

Mohendra  Lall  Chuckerbutty  sat  in  the  room 
the  Chief  Secretary  called  his  workshop,  look- 
ing, in  a  pause  of  their  conversation,  at  the 
Chief  Secretary.  No  one  familiar  with  that 
journal  would  have  discovered  in  his  amiable 
individuality  the  incarnation  of  the  Bengal  Free 
Press.  On  his  head  he  wore  a  white  turban,  and 
on  his  countenance  an  expression  of  benign  in- 
telligence just  tinged  with  uncertainty  as  to 
what  to  say  next.  His  person  was  buttoned 
up  to  his  perspiring  neck  in  a  tight  black  sur- 
tout,  which  represented  his  compromise  with 
European  fashions,  and  across  its  most  pro- 
nounced rotundity  hung  a  substantial  gold 
watch-chain.  From  the  coat  downwards  he 

* 

fell  away,  so  to  speak,  into  Aryanism :  the 
indefinite  white  draperies  of  his  race  were 
visible,  and  his  brown  hairy  legs  emerged 
from  them  bare.  He  had  made  progress,  how- 
ever, with  his  feet,  on  which  he  wore  patent 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 


109 


leather  shoes,  almost  American  in  their  neat- 
ness, with  three  buttons  at  the  sides.  He  sat 
leaning  forward  a  little,  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  and  his  plump  hands,  their  dimpled  fin- 
gers spread  apart,  hanging  down  between  them. 
Mohendra  Lall  Chuckerbutty's  attitude  ex- 
pressed his  very  genuine  anxiety  to  make  the 
most  of  his  visit. 

Ancram  leaned  back  in  his  tilted  chair,  with 
his  feet  on  his  desk,  sharpening  a  lead  pencil. 
"  And  that's  my  advice  to  you,"  he  said,  with 
his  eyes  on  the  knife. 

"  Well,  I  am  grateful  foritt !  I  am  very  much 
obliged  foritt !  "  Mohendra  paused  to  relieve 
his  nerves  by  an  amiable,  somewhat  inconse- 
quent laugh.  "  It  iss  my  wish  offcourse  to  be 
guided  as  far  as  possible  by  your  opinion." 
Mohendra  glanced  deprecatingly  at  the  matting. 
"  But  this  is  a  j/rrious  grievance.  And  there  are 
others  who  are  always  spikking  with  me  and 
pushing  me " 

"  No  grievance  was  ever  mended  in  a  day  or 
a  night,  or  a  session,  Baboo.  Government  moves 
slowly.  Ref — changes  are  made  by  inches,  not 


HO  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

by  ells.  If  you  are  wise,  you'll  be  content  with 
one  inch  this  year  and  another  next.  It's  the 
only  way." 

Mohendra  smiled  in  sad  agreement,  and 
nodded  two  or  three  times,  with  his  head 
rather  on  one  side.  It  was  an  attitude  so  ex- 
pressive of  submission  that  the  Chief  Secretary's 
tone  seemed  unnecessarily  decisive. 

"  The  article  on  that  admirable  Waterways 
Bill  off  yours  I  hope  you  recivved.  I  sent 
isspecial  marked  copy." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Ancram,  in  cordial  admission : 
"  I  noticed  it.  Very  much  to  the  point.  The 
writer  thoroughly  grasped  my  idea.  Very 
grammatical  too — and  all  that."  Mr.  Ancram 
yawned  a  little.  "  But  you'd  better  keep  my 
name  out  of  your  paper,  Baboo — unless  you 
want  to  abuse  me.  I'm  a  modest  man,  you 
know.  That  leader  you  speak  of  made  me 
blush,  I  assure  you." 

It  required  all  Mohendra's  agility  to  arrive  at 
the  conclusion  that  if  the  Honourable  Mr.  An- 
cram really  considered  the  influence  of  the  Ben- 
gal Free  Press  of  no  importance,  he  would  not 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A  LADY.  Iri 

take  the  trouble  to  say  so.  He  arrived  at  it 
safely,  though,  while  apparently  he  was  only 
shaking  his  head  and  respectfully  enjoying  Mr. 
Ancrara's  humour,  and  saying,  "  Oh,  no,  no ! 
If  sometimes  we  blame,  we  must  also  often 
praise.  Oh  yess,  certainlie.  And  efery  one 
says  it  iss  a  good  piece  off  work." 

Ancram  looked  at  his  watch.  The  afternoon 
was  mellowing.  If  Moheridra  Lall  Chuckerbutty 
had  come  for  the  purpose  of  discussing  His 
Honour  the  Lieutenant-Governor's  intentions 
towards  the  University  Colleges,  he  had  better 
begin.  Mr.  Ancram  was  aware  that  in  so  far  as 
so  joyous  and  auspicious  an  event  as  a  visit  to  a 
Chief  Secretary  could  be  dominated  by  a  pur- 
pose, Mohendra's  was  dominated  by  this  one  ; 
and  he  had  been  for  some  time  reflecting  upon 
the  extent  to  which  he  would  allow  himself  to  be 
drawn.  He  was  at  variance  with  John  Church's 
administration — now  that  three  months  had  made 
its  _direction  manifest — at  almost  every  point. 
He  was  at  variance  with  John  Church  himself — 
that  he  admitted  to  be  a  matter  of  temperament 
But  Church  had  involved  the  Government  of 


112  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

Bengal  in  blunders  from  which  the  advice  of  his 
Chief  Secretary,  if  he  had  taken  it,  would  have 
saved  him.  He  had  not  merely  ignored  the 
advice :  he  had  rejected  it  somewhat  pointedly, 
being  a  candid  man  and  no  diplomat.  If  he 
had  acknowledged  his  mistakes  ever  so  privately, 
his  Chief  Secretary  would  have  taken  a  fine 
ethical  pleasure  in  forgiving  them ;  but  the 
Lieutenant-Governor  appeared  to  think  that 
where  principle  was  concerned  the  consideration 
of  expediency  was  wholly  superfluous,  and  con- 
tinued to  defend  them  instead,  even  after  he 
could  plainly  see,  in  the  Bengal  Free  Press  and 
elsewhere,  that  they  had  begun  to  make  him 
unpopular.  Ancram's  vanity  had  never  troubled 
him  till  now.  It  had  grown  with  his  growth, 
and  strengthened  with  his  strength,  under  the 
happiest  circumstances,  and  he  had  been  as 
little  aware  of  it  as  of  his  arterial  system.  John 
Church  had  made  him  unpleasantly  conscious  of 
it,  and  he  was  as  deeply  resentful  as  if  John 
Church  had  invested  him  with  it.  The  Hon- 
ourable Mr.  Ancram  had  never  been  discounted 
before,  and  that  this  experience  should  come 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  n^ 

to  him  through  an  official  superior  whom  he 
did  not  consider  his  equal  in  many  points  of 
administrative  sagacity,  was  a  circumstance  that 
had  its  peculiar  irritation.  Mohendra  Lall 
Chuckerbutty  was  very  well  aware  of  this ; 
and  yet  he  did  not  feel  confident  in  approach- 
ing the  matter  of  His  Honour  and  the  higher 
culture.  It  was  a  magnificent  grievance.  Mo- 
hendra had  it  very  much  at  heart,  the  Free  Press 
would  have  it  very  much  at  heart,  and  nothing 
was  more  important  than  the  private  probing 
of  the  Chief  Secretary's  sentiment  regarding  it ; 
yet  Mohendra  hesitated.  He  wished  very  much 
that  there  were  some  tangible  reason  why 
Ancram  should  take  sides  against  the  Lieuten- 
ant-Governor,  some  reason  that  could  be  ex- 
pressed in  rupees :  then  he  would  have  had 
more  confidence  in  hoping  for  an  adverse 
criticism.  But  for  a  mere  dislike,  a  mere  per- 
sonal antagonism,  it  would  be  so  foolish.  Thus 
Mohendra  vacillated,  stroking  his  fat  cheek 
with  his  fingers,  and  looking  at  the  matting. 
Ancram  saw  that  his  visitor  would  end  by 
abandoning  his  intention,  and  became  aware 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

that  he  would  prefer  that  this  should  not 
happen. 

"  And  what  do  you  think,"  he  said  casually, 
"  of  our  proppsal  to  make  you  all  pay  for  your 
Greek?" 

Mohendra  beamed.  "  I  think,  sir,  that  it 
cannot  be  your  proposal." 

"  It  isn't,"  said  Ancram  sententiously. 

"  If  it  becomes  law,  it  will  be  the  signal  for 
a  great  disturbance.  I  mean,  off  course,"  the 
Baboo  hastened  to  add,  "  of  a  pa«/fc  kind.  No 
violence,  of  course !  Morally  speaking  the  com- 
munity is  already  up  in  arms — morally  speak- 
ing !  It  is  destructive  legislation,  sir ;  we  must 
protest." 

"  I  don't  blame  you  for  that." 

"  Then  you  do  not  yourself  approve  off  it?  " 

"  I  think  it's  a  mistake.  Well-intentioned,  but 
a  mistake." 

"  Oh,  the  intention,  that  iss  good !  But  im- 
practicable," Mohendra  ventured  vaguely :  "  a 
bubble  in  the  air — that  is  all ;  but  the  question 
i — iz,"  he  went  on,  "  will  it  become  law  ?  Yes- 
terday only  I  first  heard  offitt.  Mentally  I  said, 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  j  1 5 

'  I  will  go  to  my  noble  friend  and  find  out  for 
myself  the  rights  offitt ! '  Then  I  will  act." 

"  Oh,  His  Honour  intends  to  put  it  through. 
If  you  mean  to  do  anything  there's  no  time  to 
lose."  Ancram  assured  himself  afterwards  that 
between  his  duty  as  an  administrator  and  his 
private  sentiment  toward  his  chief  there  could  be 
no  choice. 

"  We  will  petition  the  Viceroy." 

Ancram  shook  his  head.  "  Time  wasted. 
The  Viceroy  will  stick  to  Church." 

"  Then  we  can  petition  the  Secretary-off- 
State." 

"  That  might  be  useful,  if  you  get  the  right 
names." 

"  We  will  have  it  fought  out  in  Parliament. 
Mr.  Dadabhai " 

"Yes,"  Ancram  responded  with  a  smile,  "  Mr. 
Dadabhai " 

"  There  will  be  mass  meetings  on  the 
Maidan." 

"  Get  them  photographed  and  send  them  to 
the  Illustrated  London  News" 

"  And  every  paper  will  be  agitating  it.     The 


Il6  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

Free  Press  the  Hindu  Patriot,  the  Bengalee — all 
offthem  will  be  writing  about  it — 

"  There  is  one  thing  you  must  remember  if 
the  business  goes  to  England — the  converts  of 
these  colleges  from  which  State  aid  is  to  be  with- 
drawn." 

"Christians?"  Mohendra  shook  his  head 
with  a  smile  of  contempt.  "  There  are  none. 
It  iss  not  to  change  their  religion  that  the 
Hindus  go  to  college." 

"  Ah !  "  returned  Ancram.  "  There  are  none  ? 
That  is  a  pity.  Otherwise  you  might  have  got 
them  photographed  too,  for  the  illustrated 
papers." 

"  Yes.     It  iss  a  pity." 

Mohendra  reflected  profoundly  for  a  moment. 
"  But  I  will  remember  what  you  say  about  the 
fottograff — if  any  can  be  found." 

"  Well,  let  me  know  how  you  get  on.  In  my 
private  capacity — in  my  private  capacity,  re- 
member— as  the  friend  and  well-wisher  of  the 
people,  I  shall  be  interested  in  what  you  do.  Of 
course  I  talk  rather  freely  to  you,  Baboo,  be- 
cause we  know  each  other  well.  I  have  not  con- 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  uy 

cealed  my  opinion  in  this  matter  at  any  time,  but 
for  all  that  it  mustn't  be  known  that  I  have 
active  sympathies.  You  understand.  This  is 
entirely  confidential." 

"  Oh,  offcourse  !  my  gracious  goodness,  yes  !  " 
Mohendra's  eyes  were  moist — with  gratifica- 
tion. He  was  still  trying  to  express  it  when  he 
withdrew,  ten  minutes  later,  backing  toward  the 
door.  Ancram  shut  it  upon  him  somewhat 
brusquely,  and  sent  a  servant  for  a  whisky-and- 
soda.  It  could  not  be  said  that  he  was  in  the 
least  nervous,  but  he  was  depressed.  It  always 
depressed  him  to  be  compelled  to  take  up  an 
attitude  which  did  not  invite  criticism  from 
every  point  of  view.  His  present  attitude  had 
one  aspect  in  which  he  was  compelled  to  see 
himself  driving  a  nail  into  the  acting  Lieutenant- 
Governor's  political  coffin.  Ancram  would  have 
much  preferred  to  see  all  the  nails  driven  in 
without  the  necessity  for  his  personal  assistance. 
His  reflections  excluded  Judith  Church  as  com- 
pletely as  if  the  matter  were  no  concern  of  hers. 
He  considered  her  separately.  The  strengthen- 
ing of  the  bond  between  them  was  a  pleasure 


Il8  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

which  had  detached  itself  from  all  the  other 
interests  of  his  life;  he  thought  of  it  tenderly, 
but  the  tenderness  was  rather  for  his  sentimental 
property  in  her  than  for  her  in  any  material 
sense.  She  stood,  with  the  dear  treasure  of  her 
sympathy,  apart  from  the  Calcutta  world,  and  as 
far  apart  from  John  Church  as  from  the  rest. 

That  evening,  at  dinner,  Ancram  told  Philip 
Doyle  and  another  man  that  he  had  been  draw- 
ing Mohendra  Lall  Chuckerbutty  on  the  Univer- 
sity College  question,  and  he  was  convinced  that 
feeling  was  running  very  high. 

"  The  fellow  had  the  cheek  to  boast  about 
the  row  they  were  going  to  make,"  said  Mr. 
Ancram. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PHILIP  DOYLE  did  not  know  at  all  how  it 
was  that  he  found  himself  at  the  Maharajah  of 
Pattore's  garden-party.  He  had  not  the  honour 
of  knowing  the  Maharajah  of  Pattore — his  invita- 
tion was  one  of  the  many  amiabilities  which  he 
declared  he  owed  to  his  distinguished  connec- 
tion with  the  Bengal  Secretariat  in  the  person  of 
Lewis  Ancram.  Certainly  Ancram  had  asked 
him  to  accept,  and  take  his,  Ancram's,  apolo- 
gies to  the  Maharajah ;  but  that  seemed  no 
particular  reason  why  he  should  be  there.  The 
fact  was,  Doyle  assured  himself,  as  he  bowled 
along  through  the  rice-fields  of  the]  suburbs 
to  His  Highness's  garden-house — the  fact  was, 
he  was  restless,  he  needed  change  supreme- 
ly, and  anything  out  of  the  common  round  had 
its  value.  Things  in  Calcutta  had  begun  to  wear 
an  unusually  hard  and  irritating  look ;  he  felt 

119 


120  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A  LADY. 

his  eye  for  the  delinquencies  of  human  nature 
growing  keener  and  more  critical.  This  state 
of  things,  taken  in  connection  with  the  posses- 
sion of  an  undoubted  sense  of  humour,  Doyle 
recognised  to  be  grave.  He  told  himself  that, 
although  he  was  unaware  of  anything  actually 
physically  wrong,  the  effects  of  the  climate 
were  most  insidious,  and  he  made  it  a  subject 
of  congratulation  that  his  passage  was  taken  in 

s 

the  Oriental. 

There  was  a  festival  arch  over  the  gate  when 
he  reached  it,  and  a  multitude  of  little  flags, 
and  "  WELLCOME  "  pendent  in  yellow  marigolds. 
Doyle  was  pleased  that  he  had  come.  It  was  a 
long  time  since  he  had  attended  a  Maharajah's 
garden  party ;  its  features  would  be  fresh  and  in 
some  ways  soothing1.  He  shook  hands  gravely 
with  the  Maharajah's  eldest  son,  a  slender,  sub- 
dued, cross-eyed  young  man  in  an  embroidered 
smoking-cap  and  a  purple  silk  frock-coat,  and  said 
"  Thank  you — thank  you  !  "  for  a  programme  of 
the  afternoon's  diversions.  The  programme  was 
printed  in  gold  letters,  and  he  was  glad  to  learn 
from  it  that  His  Highness's  country  residence 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  I2j 

was  called  "  Floral  Bower."  This  was  entirely 
as  it  should  be.  He  noticed  that  the  Maharajah 
had  provided  wrestling  and  dancing  and  theat- 
ricals for  the  amusement  of  his  guests,  and  re- 
solved to  see  them  all.  He  had  a  pleasant  sense 
of  a  strain  momentarily  removed,  and  he  did  not 
importune  himself  to  explain  it.  There  were 
very  few  English  people  in  the  crowd  that 
flocked  about  the  grounds,  following  with  do- 
cile admiration  the  movements  of  the  principal 
guests ;  it  was  easy  to  keep  away  from  them. 
He  had  only  to  stroll  about,  and  look  at  the 
curiously  futile  arrangement  of  ponds  and  grot- 
toes and  fountains  and  summer-houses,  and  ob- 
serve how  pretty  a  rose-bush  could  be  in  spite 
of  everything  and  how  appropriately  brilliant 
the  clothes  of  the  Maharajah's  friends  were. 
Some  of  the  younger  ones  were  playing  foot- 
ball, with  much  laughter  and  screaming  and 
wonderfully  high  kicks.  He  stood  and  watched 
them,  smilingly  reflecting  that  he  would  back  a 
couple  of  Harrovians  against  the  lot.  His  eyes 
were  still  on  the  boys  and  the  smile  was  still  on 
his  lips  when  he  found  himself  considering  that 


122  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

he  would  reach  England  just  about  the  day  of 
Ancram's  wedding.  Then  he  realised  that  An- 
cram's  wedding  had  for  him  some  of  the  char- 
acteristics of  a  physical  ailment  which  one  tries, 
by  forgetting,  to  conjure  out  of  existence.  The 
football  became  less  amusing,  and  he  was  con- 
scious that  much  of  its  significance  had  faded 
out  of  the  Maharajah's  garden-party.  Never- 
theless he  followed  the  feebly  curved  path  which 
led  to  His  Highness's  private  menagerie,  and  it 
was  while  he  was  returning  the  unsympathetic 
gaze  of  a  very  mangy  tiger  in  a  very  ramshackle 
cage,  that  the  reflection  came  between  them,  as 
forcibly  as  if  it  were  a  new  one,  that  he  would 
come  back  next  cold  weather  to  an  empty  house. 
Ancram  would  be  married.  He  acknowledged, 
still  carefully  examining  the  tiger,  that  he  would 
regret  the  man  less  if  his  departure  were  due  to 
any  other  reason ;  and  he  tried  to  determine, 
without  much  success,  to  what  extent  he  could 
blame  himself  in  that  his  liking  for  Ancram  had 
dwindled  so  considerably  during  the  last  few 
months.  By  the  time  he  turned  his  back  upon 
the  zoological  attraction  of  the  afternoon  he  had 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^3 

fallen  into  the  reverie  from  which  he  hoped  to 
escape  in  the  Oriental — the  recollection,  perfect 
in  every  detail,  of  the  five  times  he  had  met 
Rhoda  Daye  before  her  engagement,  and  a  little 
topaz  necklace  she  had  worn  three  times  out  of 
the  five,  and  the  several  things  that  he  wished  he 
had  said,  and  especially  the  agreeable  exaltation 
of  spirit  in  which  he  had  called  himself,  after 
every  one  of  these  interviews,  an  elderly  fool. 

His  first  thought  when  he  saw  her,  a  moment 
after,  walking  towards  him  with  her  father,  was 
of  escape — the  second  quickened  his  steps  in 
her  direction,  for  she  had  bowed,  and  after  that 
there  could  be  no  idea  of  going.  He  concluded 
later,  with  definiteness,  that  it  would  have  been 
distinctly  rude  when  there  were  not  more  than 
twenty  Europeans  in  the  place.  Colonel  Daye's 
solid  white-whiskered  countenance  broke  into 
a  square  smile  as  Doyle  approached — a  smile 
which  expressed  that  it  was  rather  a  joke  to  meet 
a  friend  at  a  maharajah's  garden  party. 

"  You're  a  singular  being,"  he  said,  as  they 
shook  hands;  "one  never  comes  across  you  in 
the  haunts  of  civilisation.  Here's  my  excuse." 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

Colonel  Daye  indicated  his  daughter.  "  Would 
come.  Offered  to  take  her  to  the  races  instead— 
wouldn't  look  at  it !  " 

"  If  I  had  no  reason  for  coming  before,  I've 
found  one,"  said  Doyle,  with  an  inclination  to- 
wards Rhoda  that  laid  the  compliment  at  her 
feet.  There  were  some  points  about  Philip  Doyle 
that  no  emotional  experience  could  altogether 
subdue.  He  would  have  said  precisely  the  same 
thing,  with  precisely  the  same  twinkle,  to  any 
woman  he  liked. 

Rhoda  looked  at  him  gravely,  having  no  re- 
sponse ready.  If  the  in-drawing  of  her  under-lip 
betrayed  anything  it  was  that  she  felt  the  least 
bit  hurt — which,  in  Rhoda  Daye,  was  ridiculous. 
If  she  had  been  asked  she  might  have  explained 
it  by  the  fact  that  there  were  people  whom  she 
preferred  to  take  her  seriously,  and  in  the  ten 
seconds  during  which  her  eyes  questioned  this 
politeness  she  grew  gradually  delicately  pink 
under  his. 

"Rum  business,  isn't  it?"  Colonel  Daye  went 
on,  tapping  the  backs  of  his  legs  with  his  stick. 
"  Hallo !  there's  Grigg.  I  must  see  Grigg — do 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  I25 

you  mind  ?     Don't  wait,  you  know  —  just  walk  on. 
I'll  catch  you  up  in  ten  minutes." 

Without  further   delay  Colonel   Daye   joined 


"  That's  like  my  father,"  said  the  girl,  with  a 
trace  of  embarrassment:  "  he  never  can  resist  the 
temptation  of  disposing  of  me,  if  it's  only  for  ten 
minutes.  We  ought  to  feel  better  acquainted 
than  we  do.  I've  been  out  seven  months  now, 
but  it  is  still  only  before  people  that  we  dare  to 
chaff  each  other.  I  think,"  she  added,  turning 
her  grey  eyes  seriously  upon  Doyle,  "  that  he 
finds  it  awkward  to  have  so  much  of  the  society 
of  a  young  lady  who  requires  to  be  entertained." 

"What  a  pity  that  is!"  Doyle  said  involun- 
tarily. 

She  was  going  to  reply  with  one  of  her 
bright,  easy  cynicisms,  and  then  for  some  reason 
changed  her  mind.  "  I  don't  know  about  the 
advantage  of  very  deep  affections,"  she  said  in- 
voluntarily, and  there  was  no  flippancy  in  her 
tone.  Doyle  fancied  that  he  detected  a  note  of 
pathos  instead,  but  perhaps  he  was  looking  for  it. 

They  were  walking   with  a  straggling   com- 


126  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

pany  of  baboos  in  white  muslin  down  a  double 
row  of  plantains  towards  the  wrestling  ring. 
Involuntarily  he  made  their  pace  slower. 

"  You  can't  be  touched  by  that  ignoble  spirit 
of  the  age — already." 

Miss  Daye  felt  her  moral  temperature  fall 
several  degrees  from  the  buoyant  condition  in 
which  she  contrived  to  keep  it  as  a  rule.  To 
say  she  experienced  a  chill  in  the  region  of  her 
conscience  is  perhaps  to  put  it  grotesquely,  but 
she  certainly  felt  inclined  to  ask  Philip  Doyle 
with  some  astonishment  what  difference  it  made 
to  him. 

"  The  spirit  of  the  age  is  an  annoying  thing. 
It  robs  one  of  all  originality." 

"  Pray,"  he  said,  "  be  original  in  some  other 
direction.  You  have  a  very  considerable  choice." 

His  manner  disarmed  his  words.  It  was 
grave,  almost  pleading.  She  wondered  why  she 
was  not  angry,  but  the  fact  remained  that  she 
was  only  vaguely  touched,  and  rather  unhappy. 
Then  he  spoiled  it. 

"  In  my  trade  we  get  into  dogmatic  ways," 
he  apologised.  "  You  won't  mind  the  carpings 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  I2? 

of  an  elderly  lawyer  who  has  won  a  bad  emi- 
nence for  himself  by  living  for  twenty  years  in 
Calcutta.  By  the  way,  I  had  Ancram's  apologies 
to  deliver  to  the  Maharajah.  If  he  had  known 
he  would  perhaps  have  entrusted  me  with  more 
important  ones."  Doyle  made  this  speech  in 
general  compensation,  to  any  one  who  wanted 
it,  for  being  near  her — with  her.  If  he  expected 
blushing  confusion  he  failed  to  find  it. 

"  He  didn't  know,"  she  said  indifferently ; 

"  and  if  he  had Oh,  there  are  the  wrestlers." 

She  looked  at  them  for  a  moment  with  disfavour. 
"  Do  you  like  them  ?  I  think  they  are  like  per- 
forming animals." 

The  men  separated  for  a  moment  and  rubbed 
their  shining  brown  bodies  with  earth.  Some- 
where near  the  gate  the  Maharajah's  band  struck 
up  "  God  Save  the  Queen,"  four  prancing  pen- 
nons appeared  over  the  tops  of  the  bushes,  and 
with  one  accord  the  crowd  moved  off  in  that 
direction.  A  moment  later  His  Highness  was 
doubling  up  in  appreciation  of  His  Excellency's 
condescension  in  arriving.  His  Excellency  him- 
self was  surrounded  ten  feet  deep  by  his  awe- 


128  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

struck  and  delighted  fellow-guests,  and  the  wres- 
tlers, bereft  of  an  audience,  sat  down  and  spat. 

What  Doyle  always  told  himself  that  he  must 
do  with  regard  to  Miss  Daye  was  to  approach 
her  in  the  vein  of  polished  commonplace — pol- 
ished because  he  owed  it  to  himself,  common- 
place because  its  after  effect  on  the  nerves  he 
found  to  be  simpler.  Realising  his  departure 
from  this  prescribed  course,  he  fervently  set  him- 
self down  a  hectoring  idiot,  and  looked  round  for 
Colonel  Daye.  Colonel  Daye  radiated  the  com- 
monplace ;  he  was  a  most  usual  person.  In  his 
society  there  was  not  the  slightest  danger  of 
saying  anything  embarrassing.  But  he  was  not 
even  remotely  visible. 

"  Believe  me,"  said  Rhoda,  with  sudden 
divination,  "  we  shall  be  lucky  if  we  see  my 
father  again  in  half  an  hour.  I  am  very  sorry, 
but  he  really  is  a  most  unnatural  parent."  There 
was  a  touch  of  defiance  in  her  laugh.  He 
should  not  lecture  her  again.  "  Where  shall 
we  go?" 

"  Have  you  seen  the  acting  ? " 

"  Yes.      It's   a   conversation    between    Rama 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  i2g 

and  Shiva.  Rama  wears  a  red  wig  and  Shiva 
wears  a  yellow  one ;  the  rest  is  tinsel  and  pink 
muslin.  They  sit  on  the  floor  and  argue — that 
is  the  play.  While  one  argues  the  other  chews 
betel  and  looks  at  the  audience.  I've  seen  better 
acting,"  she  added  demurely,  "  at  the  Corinthian 
Theatre." 

Doyle  laughed  irresistibly.  Calcutta's  theat- 
rical resources,  even  in  the  season,  lend  them- 
selves to  frivolous  suggestion. 

"  I  could  show  you  the  Maharajah's  private 
chapel,  if  you  like,"  she  said. 

Doyle  replied  that  nothing  could  be  more 
amusing  than  a  Maharajah's  private  chapel ;  and 
as  they  walked  together  among  the  rose  bushes 
he  felt  every  consideration,  every  scruple  almost, 
slip  away  from  him  in  the  one  desire  her  near- 
ness always  brought  him — the  desire  for  that 
kind  of  talk  with  her  which  should  seal  the 
right  he  vaguely  knew  was  his  to  be  acknowl- 
edged in  a  privacy  of  her  soul  that  was 
barred  against  other  people.  Once  or  twice  be- 
fore he  had  seemed  almost  to  win  it,  and  by 
some  gay  little  saying  which  rang  false  upon 


130 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 


his  sincerity  she  had  driven  him  back.  She -as- 
suredly did  not  seem  inclined  to  give  him  an 
opportunity  this  afternoon.  It  must  be  confessed 
that  she  chattered,  in  that  wilful,  light,  irrelevant 
way  that  so  stimulated  his  desire  to  be  upon 
tenderly  serious  terms  with  her,  by  no  means  as 
her  mentor,  but  for  his  own  satisfaction  and  de- 
light. She  chattered,  with  her  sensitiveness 
alive  at  every  point  to  what  he  should  say  and 
to  what  she  thought  she  could  guess  he  was 
thinking.  She  believed  him  critical,  which  was 
distressing  in  view  of  her  conviction  that  he 
could  never  understand  her — never !  He  be- 
longed to  an  older  school,  to  another  world; 
his  feminine  ideal  was  probably  some  sister  or 
mother,  with  many  virtues  and  no  opinions. 
He  was  a  person  to  respect  and  admire — she  did 
respect  and  she  did  admire  him — but  to  expect 
any  degree  of  fellowship  from  him  was  absurd. 
The  incomprehensible  thing  was  that  this  con- 
clusion should  have  any  soreness  about  it.  For 
the  moment  she  was  not  aware  that  this  was 
so;  her  perception  of  it  had  a  way  of  coming 
afterwards,  when  she  was  alone. 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  131 

"  Here  it  is,"  she  said,  at  the  entrance  of  a 
little  grotto  made  of  stucco  and  painted  to  look 
like  rock,  serving  no  particular  purpose,  by  the 
edge  of  an  artificial  lake.  "  And  here  is  the 
shrine  and  the  divinity  !  " 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  was  a  niche  in  the 
wall,  and  the  niche  held  Hanuman  with  his 
monkey  face  and  his  stolen  pineapple,  coy  in 
painted  plaster. 

Miss  Daye  looked  at  the  figure  with  a  crisp 
assumption  of  interest.  "  Isn't  he  amusing  !  "  she 
remarked  :  " '  Bloomin'  idol  made  o'  mud  ' !  " 

"  And  so  this  is  where  you  think  His  High- 
ness comes  to  say  his  prayers  ? "  Doyle  said, 
smiling. 

"  Perhaps  he  has  a  baboo  to  say  them  for 
him,"  she  returned,  as  they  strolled  out. 
"  That  would  be  an  ideal  occupation  for  a 
baboo — to  make  representations  on  behalf  of 
one  exalted  personage  to  another.  I  wonder 
what  he  asks  Hanuman  for !  To  be  protected 
from  all  the  evils  of  this  life,  and  to  wake  up 
in  the  next  another  maharajah  !  " 

He  was  so  engaged  with  the  airiness  of  her 


132  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A    LADY. 

whimsicality  and  the  tilt  of  the  feather  in  her 
hat  that  he  found  no  answer  ready  for  this, 
and  to  her  imagination  he  took  the  liberty  of 
disapproving  her  flippancy.  Afterwards  she 
told  herself  that  it  was  not  a  liberty — that  the 
difference  in  their  ages  made  it  a  right  if  he 
chose  to  take  it — but  at  the  moment  the  idea 
incited  her  to  deepen  his  impression.  She  cast 
about  her  for  the  wherewithal  to  make  the 
completest  revelation  of  her  cheaper  qualities. 
In  a  crisis  of  candour  she  would  show  him 
just  how  audacious  and  superficial  and  trivial 
she  could  be.  Women  have  some  curious  in- 
stincts. 

"  I  am  dying,"  she  said,  with  vivacity,  "  to 
see  how  His  Highness  keeps  house.  They  say 
he  has  a  golden  chandelier  and  the  prettiest 
harem  in  Bengal.  And  I  confide  to  you,  Mr. 
Doyle,  that  I  should  like  a  glass  of  simpkin 
—immensely.  It  goes  to  my  head  in  the 
most  amusing  way  in  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon." 

"  His  ideal  young  woman,"  she  declared  to 
herself,  "would  have  said  'champagne* — no, 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  ^3 

she  would  have  preferred  tea  ;  and  she  would 
have  died  rather  than  mention  the  harem." 

But  it  must  be  confessed  that  Philip  Doyle 
was  more  occupied  for  the  moment  with  the 
curve  of  her  lips  than  with  anything  that 
came  out  of  them,  except  in  so  far  that  every- 
thing she  said  seemed  to  place  him  more  defi- 
nitely at  a  distance. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  he  returned,  "  that  the  ladies 
are  all  under  double  lock  and  key  for  the  oc- 
casion, but  there  ought  to  be  no  difficulty 
about  the  champagne  and  the  chandelier." 

At  that  moment  Colonel  Daye's  tall  grey  hat 
came  into  view,  threading  the  turbaned  crowd  in 
obvious  quest.  Rhoda  did  not  see  it,  and  Doyle 
immediately  found  a  short  cut  to  the  house 
which  avoided  the  encounter.  He  had  sud- 
denly remembered  several  things  that  he  want- 
ed to  say.  They  climbed  a  flight  of  marble 
stairs  covered  with  some  dirty  yards  of  mat- 
ting, and  found  themselves  almost  alone  in  the 
Maharajah's  drawing-room.  The  Viceroy  had 
partaken  of  an  ice  and  gone  down  again, 
taking  the  occasion  with  him  ;  and  the  long 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

table  at  the  end  of  the  room  was  almost  as 
heavily  laden  as  when  the  confectioner  had  set 
it  forth. 

"  A  little  pink  cake  in  a  paper  boat,  please," 
she  commanded,  "  with  jam  inside  "  ;  and  then, 
as  Doyle  went  for  it,  she  sat  down  on  one  of 
Pattore's  big  brocaded  sofas,  and  crossed  her 
pretty  feet,  and  looked  at  the  chromolitho- 
graphs of  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales 
askew  upon  the  wall,  and  wondered  why  she 
was  making  a  fool  of  herself. 

"  I've  brought  you  a  cup  of  coffee  :  do  you 
mind  ?  "  he  asked,  coming  back  with  it.  "  His 
Highness'  intentions  are  excellent,  but  the  source 
of  his  supplies  is  obscure.  I  tried  the  champagne," 
he  added  apologetically :  "  it's  unspeakable  !  " 

No,  Miss  Daye  did  not  mind.  Doyle  sat 
down  at  the  other  end  of  the  sofa,  and  reflected 
that  another  quarter  of  an  hour  was  all  he 
could  possibly  expect,  and  then 

"  I  am  going  home,  Miss  Daye,"  he  said. 

Since  there  was  no  other  way  of  introdu- 
cing himself  to  her  consideration,  he  would  do 
it  with  a  pitchfork. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  ^5 

"  I  knew  you  were.     Soon  ?  " 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow,  in  the  Oriental. 
I  suppose  Ancram  told  you  ?  " 

"  I  believe  he  did.  You  and  he  are  great 
friends,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  We  live  together.  Men  must  be  able  to 
tolerate  each  other  pretty  fairly  to  do  that." 

"  How  long  shall  you  be  in  England  ? " 

"  Six  months,  I  hope." 

She  was  silent,  and  he  fancied  she  was  think- 
ing, with  natural  resentment,  that  he  might  have 
postponed  his  departure  until  after  the  wed- 
ding. Doyle  hated  a  lie  more  than  most  peo- 
ple, but  he  felt  the  situation  required  that  he 
should  say  something. 

"  The  exigency  of  my  going  is  unkind,"  he 
blundered.  "  It  will  deprive  me  of  the  pleasure 
of  offering  Ancram  my  congratulations." 

There  was  only  the  faintest  flavour  of  men- 
dacity about  this ;  but  she  detected  it,  and  fitted 
it,  with  that  unerring  feminine  instinct  we  hear 
so  much  about,  to  her  thought.  For  an  instant 
she  seemed  lost  in  buttoning  her  glove ;  then 
she  looked  up,  with  a  little  added  colour. 


136  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

"  Don't  tamper  with  your  sincerity  for  me," 
she  said  quickly :  "  I'm  not  worth  it.  It's  very 
kind  of  you  to  consider  my  feelings,  but  I 
would  much  rather  have  the  plain  truth  be- 
tween us — that  you  don't  approve  of  me  or 
of  the — the  marriage.  I  jar  upon  you — oh  ! 
I  see  it !  a  dozen  times  in  half  an  hour — and 
you  are  sorry  for  your  friend.  For  his  sake 
you  even  try  to  like  me :  I've  seen  you  do- 
ing it.  Please  don't :  it  distresses  me  to  know 
that  you  take  that  trouble — 

"  Here  you  are !  "  exclaimed  Colonel  Daye, 
in  the  doorway.  "  Much  obliged  to  you,  Doyle, 
really,  for  taking  care  of  this  little  girl.  Most 
difficult  man  to  get  hold  of,  Grigg." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

IT  has  been  obvious,  I  hope,  that  Lewis 
Ancram  was  temperamentally  equal  to  adjust- 
ing himself  to  a  situation.  His  philosophy  was 
really  characteristic  of  him ;  and  none  the  less  so 
because  it  had  a  pessimistic  and  artistic  tinge, 
and  he  wore  it  in  a  Persian  motto  inside  a  crest 
ring  on  his  little  finger.  f  It  can  hardly  be  said 
that  he  adjusted  himself  to  his  engagement  and 
his  future,  when  it  became  apparent  to  him 
that  the  one  could  not  be  broken  or  the  other 
changed,  with  cheerfulness — for  cheerfulness  was 
too  commonplace  a  mental  condition  to  have 
characterised  Mr.  Ancram  under  the  happiest 
circumstances.  Neither  can  it  be  denied,  how- 
ever, that  he  did  it  with  a  good  deal  of  dignity 
and  some  tact.  He  permitted  himself  to  lose 
the  abstraction  that  had  been  overcoming  him  so 
habitually  in  Rhoda's  society,  and  he  said  more 

137 


!38  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

of  those  clever  things  to  her  which  had  been 
temporarily  obscured  by  the  cloud  on  his  spirits. 
They  saw  one  another  rather  oftener  than  usual 
in  the  fortnight  following  the  evening  on  which 
Mr.  Ancram  thought  he  could  suggest  a  course 
for  their  mutual  benefit  to  Miss  Daye  and 
her  daintily  authoritative  manner  with  him  con- 
vinced him  that  his  chains  were  riveted  very 
firmly.  At  times  he  told  himself  that  she  had, 
after  all,  affectionate  potentialities,  though  he  met 
the  problem  of  evolving  them  with  a  shrug.  He 
disposed  himself  to  accept  all  the  ameliorations 
of  the  situation  that  were  available,  all  the  con- 
solations he  could  find.  One  of  the  subtlest  and 
therefore  most  appreciable  of  these  was  the 
necessity,  which  his  earlier  confidence  involved, 
of  telling  Judith  Church  in  a  few  suitably  hesi- 
tating and  well-chosen  words  that  things  were 
irrevocable.  Judith  kept  silence  for  a  moment, 
and  then,  with  a  gravely  impersonal  smile,  she 
said,  "  I  hope — and  think — you  may  be  happier 
than  you  expect,"  in  a  manner  which  made 
further  discussion  of  the  matter  impossible.  It 
cannot  be  doubted,  however,  that  she  was  able 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

to  convey  to  him  an  under-current  of  her  sym- 
pathy without  embarrassment.  Otherwise  he 
would  hardly  have  found  himself  so  dependent 
on  the  odd  half-hours  during  which  they  talked 
of  Henley's  verses  and  Swan's  pictures  and  the 
possibility  of  barricading  oneself  against  the 
moral  effect  of  India.  Ancram  often  gave  her 
to  understand,  in  one  delicate  way  or  another, 
that  if  there  were  a  few  more  women  like  her  in 
the  country  it  could  be  done. 

The  opinion  seemed  to  be  general,  though 
perhaps  nobody  else  formulated  it  exactly  in 
those  terms.  People  went  about  assuring  each 
other  that  Mrs.  Church  was  the  most  charming 
social  success,  asserting  this  as  if  they  recognised 
that  it  was  somewhat  unusual  to  confer  such  a 
decoration  upon  a  lady  whose  husband  had  as 
yet  none  whatever.  People  said  she  was  a  really 
fascinating  woman  in  a  manner  which  at  once  con- 
doned and  suggested  her  undistinguished  antece- 
dents— an  art  which  practice  has  made  perfect 
in  the  bureaucratic  circles  of  India.  They  even 
went  so  far  as  to  add  that  the  atmosphere  of 
Belvedere  had  entirely  changed  since  the  begin- 

IO 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

ning-  of  the  officiating  period — which  was  prepos- 
terous, for  nothing  could  change  the  social  at- 
mosphere  of  any  court  of  Calcutta  short  of  the 
reconstruction  of  the  Indian  Empire.  The  total 
of  this  meant  that  Mrs.  Church  had  a  good  mem- 
ory, much  considerateness,  an  agreeable  disposi- 
tion, and  pretty  clothes.  Her  virtues,  certainly 
her  virtues  as  I  know  them,  would  hardly  be 
revealed  in  the  fierce  light  which  beats  upon  the 
wife  of  an  acting  Lieutenant-Governor  of  Bengal 
from  November  until  April,  though  a  shadow 
of  one  of  them  might  have  been  detected  in  the 
way  she  behaved  to  the  Dayes.  Ancram  thought 
her  divine  in  this,  but  she  was  only  an  honest 
woman  with  a  temptation  and  a  scruple.  Her 
dignity  made  it  difficult ;  she  was  obliged  to  think 
out  delicate  little  ways  of  offering  them  her  friend- 
ship in  the  scanty  half  hours  she  had  to  herself 
after  dinner,  while  the  unending  scratch  of  her 
husband's  pen  came  through  the  portiere  that 
hung  across  the  doorway  into  his  dressing-room. 
What  she  could  do  without  consulting  them  she 
did  ;  though  it  is  not  likely  that  Colonel  Daye 
will  ever  attribute  the  remarkable  smoothness  of 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  I4I 

his  official  path  at  this  time  to  anything  but  the 
spirit  of  appreciation  in  which  he  at  last  found 
Government  disposed  to  regard  his  services. 
The  rest  was  not  so  easy,  because  she  had  to 
count  with  Rhoda.  On  this  point  her  mother 
was  in  the  habit  of  invoking  Rhoda's  better 
nature,  with  regrettable  futility.  Mrs.  Daye  said 
that  for  her  part  she  accepted  an  invitation  in  the 
spirit  in  which  it  was  given,  and  it  is  to  be  feared 
that  no  lady  in  Mrs.  Church's  "  official  position  " 
would  be  compelled  to  make  overtures  twice  to 
Mrs.  Daye,  who  told  other  ladies,  in  confidence, 
that  she  had  the  best  reason  to  believe  Mrs. 
Church  a  noble-minded  woman — a  beautiful  soul. 
It  distressed  her  that  she  was  not  able  to  say 
this  to  Rhoda  also,  to  be  frank  with  Rhoda,  to 
discuss  the  situation  and  perhaps  to  hint  to  the 
dear  child  that  her  non-responsiveness  to  Mrs. 
Church's  very  kind  attitude  looked  "  the  least  bit 
in  the  world  like  the  little  green  monster,  you 
know,  dearest  one."  It  was  not,  Mrs.  Daye  ac- 
knowledged, that  Rhoda  actively  resisted  Mrs. 
Church's  interest ;  she  simply  appeared  to  be  un- 
aware of  it,  and  sat  on  a  chair  beside  that  sweet 


142  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

woman  in  the  Belvedere  drawing-room  with  the 
effect  of  being-  a  hundred  miles  away.  Mrs.  Daye 
sometimes  asked  herself  apprehensively  how 
soon  Mrs.  Church  would  grow  tired  of  coaxing 
Rhoda,  how  long  their  present  beatitudes  might 
be  expected  to  last.  It  was  with  this  consider- 
ation in  mind  that  she  went  to  her  daughter's 
room  the  day  after  the  Maharajah  of  Pattore's 
garden-party,  which  was  Thursday.  The  win- 
dows of  that  apartment  were  wide  open,  letting 
in  great  squares  of  vivid  sunlight,  and  their 
muslin  curtains  bellied  inward  with  the  pleasant 
north  wind.  It  brought  gusts  of  sound  from  the 
life  outside — the  high  plaintive  cheeling  of  the 
kites,  the  interminable  cawing  of  the  crows,  the 
swish  of  the  palm  fronds,  the  scolding  of  the 
mynas ;  and  all  this  life  and  light  and  clamour 
seemed  to  centre  in  and  circle  about  the  yellow- 
haired  girl  who  sat,  half-dressed,  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed  writing  a  letter.  She  laid  it  aside  face 
downward,  at  her  mother's*  knock,  and  that 
amiable  lady  found  her  daughter  seated  before 
the  looking-glass  with  a  crumpled  little  brown 
ayah  brushing  her  hair. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  143 

Mrs.  Daye  cried  out  at  the  glare,  at  the  noise. 
"  It's  like  living  in  one  of  those  fretwork  marble 
summer-houses  at  Delhi  where  the  kings  of 
what-you-may-call-it  dynasty  kept  their  wives ! " 
she  declared,  with  her  hands  pressed  on  her 
eyes  and  a  thumb  in  each  ear ;  and  when  the 
shutters  were  closed  and  the  room  reduced  to 
some  degree  of  tranquillity,  broken  by  glowing 
points  where  the  green  slats  came  short  of  the 
sash,  she  demanded  eau-de-cologne  and  sank  into 
a  chair.  "  I've  come  for  '  Cruelle  Enigme,' 
Rhoda,"  Mrs.  Daye  announced. 

"  No,  you  haven't,  mummie.  And  besides, 
you  can't  have  it — it  isn't  a  nice  book  for  you 
to  read." 

"  Can't  I  ? "  Mrs.  Daye  asked  plaintively. 
"  Well,  dear,  I  suppose  I  must  take  your  opinion 
—you  know  how  much  my  wretched  nerves  will 
stand.  From  all  I  hear  I  certainly  can't  be  too 
thankful  to  you  for  protecting  me  from  Zola." 

"  Ayah,"  Rhoda  commanded  in  the  ayah's 
tongue,  "  give  me  the  yellow  book  on  the  little 
table — the  yellow  one,  owl's  daughter!  Here's 
one  you  can  have,  mother,"  she  said,  turning 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

over  a  few  of  the  leaves  with  a  touch  that  was  a 
caress — "'  Robert  Helmont ' — you  haven't  read 
that." 

Mrs.  Daye  glanced  at  it  without  enthusiasm. 

"It's  about  a  war,  isn't  it?  I'm  not  fond  of 
books  about  wars  as  a  rule,  they're  so  '  bluggy,'  " 
and  the  lady  made  a  little  face  ;  "  but  of  course — 
oh  yes,  Daudet,  I  know  he  would  be  charming 
even  if  he  was  bluggy.  Rhoda,  don't  make  any 
engagement  for  Sunday  afternoon.  I've  accepted 
an  invitation  from  Belvedere  for  a  river- 
party." 

The  face  in  the  looking-glass  showed  the  least 
contraction  between  the  eyebrows.  The  ayah 
saw  it,  and  brushed  even  more  gently  than 
before.  Mrs.  Daye  was  watching  for  it,  and 
hurried  on.  "  I  gather  from  Mrs.  Church's  ex- 
tremely kind  note — she  writes  herself,  and  not 
the  aide-de-camp — that  it  is  a  little  ftte  she  is 
making  especially,  in  a  manner,  for  you  and 
Mr.  Ancram,  dear — in  celebration,  as  it  were. 
She  has  asked  only  people  we  know  very  well 
indeed ;  it  is  really  almost  a  family  affair.  Very 
sweet  of  her  I  call  it,  though  of  course  Lewis 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^5 

Ancram  is  an  old  friend  of — of  the  Lieutenant- 
Governor's." 

The  contraction  between  the  girl's  brows 
deepened  seriously,  gave  place  to  a  considering 
air,  and  for  a  moment  she  looked  straight  into  her 
own  eyes  in  the  glass  and  said  nothing.  They 
rewarded  her  presently  with  a  bubble  of  mis- 
chievous intelligence,  which  almost  broke  into 
a  smile.  Mrs.  Daye  continued  to  the  effect  that 
nothing  did  one  so  much  good  as  a  little  jaunt 
on  the  river — it  seemed  to  blow  the  malaria  out 
of  one's  system — for  her  part  she  would  give  up 
anything  for  it.  But  Rhoda  had  no  other  en- 
gagement? 

"  Oh  dear  no ! "  Miss  Daye  replied.  "  There 
is  nothing  in  the  world  to  interfere ! " 

"Then  you  will  go,  dearest  one?" 

"  I  shall  be  delighted." 

"  My  darling  child,  you  have  relieved  my 
mind !  I  was  so  afraid  that  some  silly  little  fad 
—I  know  how  much  you  dislike  the  glare  of  the 

river "  then,  forgetfully,  "  I  will  write  at  once 

and  accept  for  us  all."  Mrs.  Daye  implanted  a 
kiss  upon  her  daughter's  forehead,  with  a  sense 


146  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

that  she  was  picturesquely  acknowledging  duti- 
ful obedience,  and  rustled  out.  "  Robert  Hel- 
mont "  remained  on  the  floor  beside  her  chair, 
and  an  indefinitely  pleasant  freshness  was  diffused 
where  she  had  been. 

As  Rhoda  twisted  her  hair  a  little  uncon- 
trollable smile  came  to  her  lips  and  stayed 
there.  "Ayah,  worthy  one,"  she  said,  "give  me 
the  letter  from  the  bed " ;  and  having  read 
what  she  had  written  she  slowly  tore  it  into 
very  small  pieces.  "After  all,"  she  reflected, 
"  that  would  be  a  stupid  way." 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE  opinion  was  a  United  one  on  board  the 
Annie  Laurie  the  next  Sunday  afternoon  that 
Nature  had  left  nothing  undone  to  make  the 
occasion  a  success.  This  might  have  testified 
to  less  than  it  did  ;  for  a  similar  view  has  been 
expressed  as  unanimously,  and  adhered  to  as 
firmly,  on  board  the  Annie  Laurie  when  the  banks 
of  the  Hooghly  have  been  grey  with  deluge  and 
the  ladies  have  saved  their  skirts  by  sitting  on 
one  another's  knees  in  her  tiny  cabin.  The 
Annie  Laurie  being  the  Lieutenant-Governor's 
steam-launch,  nobody  but  the  Lieutenant-Govern- 
or  presumes  to  be  anything  but  complimentary 
as  to  the  weather  experienced  aboard  her.  And 
this  in  India  is  natural.  It  could  not  be  said, 
however,  that  there  was  anything  necessarily 
diplomatic  even  in  Mrs.  Daye's  appreciation  of 
this  particular  afternoon.  The  air — they  all  di- 

147 


I48  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

lated  on  the  air — blew  in  from  the  sea,  across 
the  salt  marshes,  through  the  plantains  and  the 
cocoanut-trees  of  the  little  villages,  and  brought 
a  dancing  crispness,  softened  by  the  sun.  The 
brown  river  hurtled  outwards  past  her  buoys, 
and  a  great  merchant  ship  at  anchor  in  mid- 
stream swung  slowly  round  with  the  tide.  A 
vague  concourse  of  straight  masts  and  black 
hulls  and  slanting  funnels  stretched  along  the 
bank  behind  them  with  the  indefiniteness  that 
comes  of  multitude,  for  every  spar  and  line  stood 
and  swung  clear  cut  in  the  glittering  sun ;  and 
the  point  they  were  bound  for  elbowed  itself 
out  into  the  river  two  miles  farther  down,  in  the 
grey  greenness  of  slanting,  pluming  palms.  Al- 
ready the  water  was  growing  more  golden 
where  the  palms  toppled  over  the  river:  there 
would  not  be  more  than  two  good  hours  of 
daylight.  As  Mrs.  Daye  remarked  to  the  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor,  life  was  all  too  short  in  the 
cold  weather  really  to  absorb,  to  drink  in,  the 
beauties  of  nature — there  was  so  much  going  on. 
"  Then,"  said  His  Honour,  "  we  must  make 
the  most  of  our  time."  But  he  did  not  prolong 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  j^ 

his  gaze  at  Mrs.  Daye  by  way  of  emphasising  his 
remark,  as  another  man,  and  especially  another 
lieutenant-governor,  might  have  done.  He  fixed 
it  instead  on  the  dilapidated  plaster  facade  on 
the  left  bank  of  the  river,  formerly  inhabited  by 
the  King  of  Oudh  and  his  relatives,  and  thought 
of  the  deplorable  sanitation  there. 

Not  that  John  Church  was  by  any  means 
unappreciative  of  the  beauties  of  nature.  It 
was  because  he  acknowledged  the  moral  use  of 
them  that  he  came  on  these  Sunday  afternoon 
picnics.  He  read  the  poets,  and  would  pay  a 
good  price  for  a  bronze  or  a  picture,  for  much 
the  same  reason.  They  formed  part  of  his  sys- 
tem of  self-development ;  he  applied  them  to  his 
mind  through  the  medium  which  nature  has 
provided,  and  trusted  that  the  effect  would  be 
good.  He  did  it,  however,  as  he  did  everything, 
with  the  greatest  possible  economy  of  time,  and 
sometimes  other  considerations  overlapped. 
That  very  afternoon  he  meant  to  speak  to  the 
Superintendent  of  the  Botanical  Gardens — the 
green  elbow  of  the  river  crooked  about  this 
place — concerning  the  manufacture  and  distribu- 


150  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

tion  of  a  new  febrifuge,  and  he  presently  edged 
away  from  Mrs.  Daye  with  the  purpose  of  find- 
ing out  her  husband's  views  concerning  the  silt- 
ing up  of  river-beds  in  Bengal  and  the  cost  of 
preventive  measures.  Life  with  John  Church 
could  be  measured  simply  as  an  area  for  effort. 
Notwithstanding  these  considerations,  it  was 
gay  enough.  Captain  Thrush,  A.D.C.,  sat  on  the 
top  of  the  cabin,  and  swung  his  legs  to  the  ac- 
companiment of  his  amusing  experiences  the  last 
time  he  went  quail  shooting.  The  St.  Georges 
were  there,  and  the  St.  Georges  were  proverbial 
in  Calcutta  for  lightheartedness.  Sir  William 
Scott  might  have  somewhat  overweighted  the 
occasion ;  but  Sir  William  Scott  had  taken  off  his 
hat,  the  better  to  enjoy  the  river-breeze,  and  this 
reduced  him  to  a  name  and  a  frock  coat.  In  the 
general  good  spirits  the  abnegation  and  the  reso- 
lution with  which  Lewis  Ancram  and  Judith 
Church  occupied  themselves  with  other  people 
might  almost  have  passed  unnoticed.  Rhoda 
Daye  found  herself  wondering  whether  it  would 
be  possible  for  Ancram  to  be  pathetic  under  the 
most  moving  circumstances,  so  it  may  be  pre- 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^j 

sumed  that  she  perceived  it ;  but  the  waves  of 
mirth  engendered  by  Captain  Thrush  and  the 
St.  Georges  rolled  over  it  so  far  as  the  rest  were 
concerned,  as  they  might  over  a  wreck  of  life 
and  hope.  This  pretty  simile  occurred  to  Miss 
Daye,  who  instantly  dismissed  it  as  mawkish, 
but  nevertheless  continued,  for  at  least  five  min- 
utes, to  reflect  on  the  irony  of  fate,  as,  for  the 
moment,  she  helped  to  illustrate  it.  A  new  grav- 
ity fell  upon  her  for  that  period,  as  she  sat  there 
and  watched  Judith  Church  talking  to  Sir  Wil- 
liam Scott  about  his  ferns.  For  the  first  time 
she  became  aware  that  the  situation  had  an 
edge  to  it — that  she  was  the  edge.  She  was 
the  saturnine  element  in  what  she  had  hitherto 
resolutely  regarded  as  a  Calcutta  comedy ;  she 
was  not  sure  that  she  could  regard  it  as  a 
comedy  any  longer,  even  from  the  official  point 
of  view.  Ancram  evidently  had  it  in  mind  to 
make  an  exhibition  to  the  world  in  general,  and 
to  Mrs.  Church  in  particular,  of  devotion  to  his 
betrothed.  She  caught  him  once  or  twice  in  the 
act  of  gratefully  receiving  Mrs.  Church's  approv- 
ing glance.  Nevertheless  she  had  an  agreeable 


!52  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

tolerance  for  all  that  he  found  to  do  for  her. 
She  forbade  herself,  for  the  time  being,  any 
further  analysis  of  a  matter  with  which  she  meant 
to  have  in  future  little  concern.  In  that  anticipa- 
tion she  became  unaccountably  light-hearted  and 
talkative  and  merry.  So  much  so,  that  Captain 
Thrush,  A.D.C.,  registered  his  conviction  that 
she  was  really  rather  a  pretty  girl — more  in  her 
than  he  thought ;  and  the  Honourable  Mr.  Lewis 
Ancram  said  to  himself  that  she  was  enjoying, 
in  anticipation,  the  prestige  she  would  have  a 
month  later,  and  that  the  cleverest  of  women 
were  deplorably  susceptible  to  social  ambition. 

The  Superintendent  met  them  at  the  wharf, 
and  John  Church  led  the  way  up  the  great 
central  avenue  of  palms,  whose  grey,  shaven 
polls  look  as  if  they  had  been  turned  by  some 
giant  lathe,  with  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  this 
gentleman.  The  others  arranged  themselves 
with  a  single  eye  to  avoiding  the  stupidity 
of  walking  with  their  own  wives  and  trooped 
after. 

"  We  are  going  to  the  orchid-houses,  John," 
Mrs.  Church  called  after  her  husband,  as  Sir 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  jgj 

William  Scott  brought  them  to  a  halt  at  a 
divergent  road  he  loved  ;  and  Church  took  off 
his  hat  in  hurried  acquiescence. 

"  Notice  my  new  Dendrobium  !  "  cried  the 
Superintendent,  turning  a  rueful  countenance 
upon  them.  "  The  only  one  in  Asia  !  "  Then 
his  head  resumed  its  inclination  of  respectful 
attention,  and  the  pair  disappeared. 

Mrs.  Church  laughed  frankly.  "  Poor  Dr. 
James ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  My  husband  is 
double-dyed  in  febrifuge  to-day." 

Ancram  took  the  privilege — it  was  one  he 
enjoyed — of  gently  rebuking  her.  "  It  is  one 
of  those  common,  urgent  needs  of  the  peo- 
ple," he  said,  "  that  His  Honour  so  intimately 
understands." 

Judith  looked  at  him  with  a  sudden  sweet 
humility  in  her  eyes.  "  You  are  quite  right," 
she  returned.  "  I  sometimes  think  that  nobody 
knows  him  as  you  do.  Certainly,"  she  added, 
in  a  lower  tone,  as  the  two  fell  back,  "  no- 
body has  more  of  his  confidence,  more  of  his 
dependence." 

"  I   don't   know,"   Ancram   answered    vague- 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

ly.  "  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  I  don't 
know." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it" 

He  looked  straight  before  him  in  silence, 
irritated  in  his  sensitive  morality — the  morality 
which  forbade  him  to  send  a  Government 
chuprassie  on  a  private  errand,  or  to  write  to 
his  relations  in  England  on  office  paper.  A 
curve  in  the  walk  showed  them  Rhoda  Daye, 
standing  alone  on  the  sward,  beside  a  bush  in 
crimson-and-orange  flower,  intently  examining  a 
spray.  Almost  involuntarily  they  paused,  and 
Ancram  turned  his  eyes  upon  Mrs.  Church 
with  the  effect  of  asking  her  what  he  should 
do,  what  he  must  do. 

"  Go !  "  she  said  ;  and  then,  as  if  it  were  a 
commonplace :  "  I  think  Miss  Daye  wants  you. 
I  will  overtake  the  others." 

She  thought  he  left  her  very  willingly,  and 
hurried  on  with  the  conviction  that,  like  every- 
thing else,  it  would  come  right — quite  right — in 
the  end.  She  was  very  happy  if  in  any  way  she 
had  helped  it  to  come  right — so  happy  that  she 
longed  to  be  alone  with  her  sensations,  and  re- 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  155 

volted  with  all  her  soul  against  the  immediate 
necessity  of  Sir  William  Scott  and  the  St. 
Georges.  To  be  for  a  few  hours  quite  alone, 
unseen  and  unknown,  in  the  heart  of  some 
empty  green  wilderness  like  this,  would  help 
her,  she  knew,  to  rationalise  her  satisfaction. 
"  My  dear  boy,"  she  said,  with  nervous  pa- 
tience, as  Captain  Thrush  appeared  in  search 
of  her,  "  did  you  think  I  had  fallen  into  a 
tank?  Do  go  and  take  care  of  the  other  peo- 
ple." An  aide-de-camp  was  not  a  serious  im- 
pediment to  reflection,  but  at  the  moment 
Judith  would  have  been  distressed  by  the  at- 
tendance of  her  own  shadow,  if  it  were  too 
perceptible. 

Ancram  crossed  over  to  Rhoda,  with  his 
antipathy  to  the  Lieutenant-Governor  sensibly 
aggravated  by  the  fact  that  his  wife  took  an 
interest  in  him — an  appreciative  interest.  It 
was  out  of  harmony,  Ancram  felt  vaguely,  that 
she  should  do  this — it  jarred.  He  had  so  ad- 
mired her  usual  attitude  of  pale,  cool,  sweet 
tolerance  toward  John  Church — had  so  ap- 
proved it.  That  attitude  had  been  his  solace 
ii 


156  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

in  thinking  about  her  in  her  unique  position 
and  with  her  rare  temperament.  To  suppose 
her  counting  up  her  husband's  virtues,  weigh- 
ing them,  doing  justice  to  them,  tinged  her 
with  the  commonplace,  and  disturbed  him. 

"  That's  a  curious  thing,"  he  said  to  Rhoda. 

She  let  go  her  hold  of  the  twig,  and  the 
red-and-gold  flower  danced  up  like  a  flame. 

"  It  belongs  to  the  sun  and  the  soil ;  so  it 
pleases  one  better  than  any  importation." 

"  An  orchid  is  such  a  fairy — you  can't  ex- 
pect it  to  have  a  nationality,"  he  returned. 

She  stood,  with  her  head  thrown  back  a  lit- 
tle, looking  at  the  sprays  that  swung  above  the 
line  of  her  lips.  Her  wide-brimmed  hat  dropped 
a  soft  shadow  over  the  upper  part  of  her  face  ; 
her  eyes  shone  through  it  with  a  gleam  of  in- 
tensely feminine  sweetness,  and  the  tender  curve 
of  her  throat  gave  him  an  unreasoned  throb  of 
anticipation.  In  six  weeks  he  would  be  married 
to  this  slender  creature  ;  it  would  be  an  excur- 
sion into  the  unknown,  not  unaccompanied  by 
adventures.  Tentatively,  it  might  be  agreeable ; 
it  would  certainly  be  interesting.  He  confessed 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

to  a  curiosity  which  was  well  on  the  way  to  be- 
come impatient. 

"  Then  do  you  want  to  go  and  see  the  Den- 
drobium  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  if  you  prefer  to  do  anything  else." 

"  I  think  I  would  enjoy  the  cranes  more,  or 
the  pink  water-lilies.  The  others  will  under- 
stand, won't  they,  that  we  two  might  like  to  take 
a  little  walk?" 

Her  coquetry,  he  said  to  himself,  was  prepos- 
terously pretty.  They  took  another  of  the  wide 
solitary  paths  that  led  under  showery  bamboos 
and  quivering  mahogany  trees  to  where  a  stretch 
of  water  gave  back  the  silence  of  the  palms 
against  the  evening  sky,  and  he  dropped  uncon- 
sciously into  the  stroll  which  is  characterised 
everywhere  as  a  lover's.  She  glanced  at  him 
once  or  twice  corroboratively,  and  said  to  her- 
self that  she  had  not  been  mistaken :  he  had  real 
distinction — he  was  not  of  the  herd.  Then  she 
picked  up  broad,  crisp  leaves  with  the  point  of 
her  parasol  and  pondered  while  he  talked  of  a 
possible  walking  tour  in  the  Tyrol.  Presently 
she  broke  in  irrelevantly,  hurriedly. 


!58  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

"  I  like  to  do  a  definite  thing  in  a  definite 
way  :  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  yes,  of  course." 

"  Well ;  and  that  is  why  I  waited  till  this 
afternoon  to  tell  you — to  tell  you " 

"  To  tell  me— 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Ancrara,  that  I  cannot  possibly 
marry  you." 

She  had  intended  to  put  it  differently,  more 
effectively — perhaps  with  a  turn  that  would 
punish  him  for  his  part  in  making  the  situation 
what  it  was.  But  it  seemed  a  more  momentous 
thing  than  she  thought,  now  that  she  came  to  do 
it ;  she  had  a  sense  that  destiny  was  too  heavy  a 
thing  to  play  with. 

He  gave  her  an  official  look,  the  look  which 
refuses  to  allow  itself  to  be  surprised,  and 
said  "  Really  ?  "  in  a  manner  which  expressed  ab- 
solutely nothing  except  that  she  had  his  at- 
tention. 

"  I  do  not  pretend,"  she  went  on,  impaling 
her  vanity  upon  her  candour,  "  that  this  will  give 
you  the  slightest  pain.  I  have  been  quite  con- 
scious of  the  relation  between  us "  (here  she 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  jjg 

blushed)  "  for  a  very  long  time  ;  and  I  am  afraid 
you  must  understand  that  I  have  reached  this  de- 
cision without  any  undue  distress — mot  ausst." 

She  had  almost  immediately  regained  her 
note ;  she  was  wholly  mistress  of  what  she  said. 
For  an  instant  Ancram  fancied  that  the  bamboos 
and  the  mahogany  trees  and  the  flaming  hibiscus 
bushes  were  unreal,  that  he  was  walking  into  a 
panorama,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  steps 
were  uncertain.  He  was  carrying  his  silk  hat, 
and  he  set  himself  mechanically  to  smooth  it 
round  and  round  with  his  right  hand  as  he 
listened. 

When  she  paused  he  could  find  nothing 
better  to  say  than  "  Really  ? "  again ;  and  he 
added,  "  You  can't  expect  me  to  be  pleased." 

"  Oh,  but  I  do,"  she  returned  promptly. 
"  You  are,  aren't  you  ?  " 

It  seemed  a  friendly  reminder  of  his  best  in- 
terests. It  brought  the  bamboos  back  to  a 
vegetable  growth,  and  steadied  Ancram's  nerves. 
He  continued  to  smooth  his  hat;  but  he  re- 
covered himself  sufficiently  to  join  her,  at  a 
bound,  in  the  standpoint  from  which  she  seemed 


l6o  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

inclined  to  discuss  the  matter  without  preju- 
dice. 

"  Since  we  are  to  be  quite  candid  with  each 
other,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  I'm  not  sure." 

"  Your  candour  has — artistic  qualities — which 
make  it  different  from  other  people's.  At  all 
events,  you  will  be  to-morrow  :  to-morrow  you 
will  thank  Heaven  fasting." 

He  looked  at  her  with  some  of  the  interest 
she  used  to  inspire  in  him  before  his  chains 
began  to  gall  him. 

"  Prickly  creature  !  "  he  said.  "  Are  you  quite 
sure  ?  Is  your  determination  unalterable?  " 

"  I  acknowledge  your  politeness  in  asking 
me,"  she  returned.  "  It  is." 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  must  accept  it."  He 
spoke  slowly.  "  But  for  the  soulagement  you  sug- 
gest I  am  afraid  I  must  wait  longer  than  to-mor- 
row." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  reached  the  rank 
edge  of  the  pond,  and  turned  to  go  back.  The 
afternooon  still  hung  mellow  in  mid  air,  and 
something  of  its  tranquillity  seemed  to  have 
descended  between  them.  In  their  joint  escape 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  IgI 

from  their  mutual  burden  they  experienced  a 
reciprocal  good  feeling,  something  like  comrade- 
ship, not  untouched  by  sentiment.  Once  or 
twice  he  referred  to  their  broken  bond,  asking 
her,  with  the  appetite  of  his  egotism,  to  give 
him  the  crystal  truth  of  the  reason  she  had  ac- 
cepted him. 

"  I  accepted  my  idea  of  you,"  she  said  sim- 
ply, "  which  was  not  altogether  an  accurate  one. 
Besides,  I  think  a  good  deal  about — a  lot  of  ques- 
tions of  administration.  I  thought  I  would  like  to 
have  a  closer  interest,  perhaps  a  hand  in  them. 
Such  fools  of  women  do." 

After  which  they  talked  in  a  friendly  way  (it 
has  been  noted  that  Ancram  was  tolerant)  about 
how  essential  ambition  was  to  the  bearableness  of 
life  in  India. 

"  I  see  that  you  will  be  a  much  more  desir- 
able acquaintance,"  Rhoda  said  once,  brightly, 
"  now  that  I  am  not  going  to  marry  you."  And 
he  smiled  in  somewhat  unsatisfied  acquiescence. 

Ancram  grew  silent  as  they  drew  near  the 
main  avenue  and  the  real  parting.  The  dusk 
had  fallen  suddenly,  and  a  little  wind  brought 


!62  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

showers  of  yellow  leaves  out  of  the  shivering 
bamboos.  They  were  quite  alone,  and  at  a  short 
distance  almost  indistinguishable  from  the  ixora 
bushes  and  the  palmettos. 

"Rhoda,"  he  said,  stopping  short,  "this  is 
our  last  walk  together — we  who  were  to  have 
walked  together  always.  May  I  kiss  you  ?  " 

The  girl  hesitated  for  an  instant.  "  No,"  she 
said,  with  a  nervous  laugh  :  "  not  that.  It  would 
be  like  the  resurrection  of  something  that  had 
never  lived  and  never  died  !  " 

But  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  he  kissed 
that,  with  some  difficulty  in  determining  whether 
he  was  grateful  or  aggrieved. 

"  It's  really  very  raw,"  said  Miss  Daye,  as 
they  approached  the  others ;  "  don't  you  think 
you  had  better  put  on  your  hat?  " 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  RHODA,"  said  Mrs.  Daye,  as  her  daughter 
entered  the  drawing-room  next  morning,  "  I 
have  thought  it  all  out,  and  have  decided  to  ask 
them.  Mrs.  St.  George  quite  agrees  with  me. 
She  says,  sound  the  Military  Secretary  first,  and 
of  course  I  will ;  but  she  thinks  they  are  certain 
to  accept.  Afterward  we'll  have  the  whole 
party  photographed  on  the  back  verandah — I 
don't  see  how  they  could  get  out  of  it — and 
that  will  be  a  souvenir  for  you,  if  you  like." 

The  girl  sank  into  a  deep  easy  chair  and 
crossed  her  knees  with  deliberation.  She  was 
paler  than  usual ;  she  could  not  deny  a  certain 
lassitude.  As  her  mother  spoke  she  put  up  her 
hand  to  hide  an  incipient  yawn,  and  then  turned 
her  suffused  eyes  upon  that  lady,  with  the  ef- 
fect of  granting  a  weary  but  necessary  atten- 
tion. 

163 


164  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

"You  have  decided  to  ask  them  ?  "  she  asked, 
with  absent-minded  interrogation.  "'Whom  ?  " 

"  How  ridiculous  you  are,  Rhoda !  The 
Viceroy  and  Lady  Scansleigh,  of  course !  As 
if  there  could  be  the  slightest  doubt  about  any- 
body else !  You  will  want  to  know  next  what 
I  intend  to  ask  them  to.  I  have  never  known 
a  girl  take  so  little  interest  in  her  own  wed- 
ding." 

"  That  brings  us  to  the  point,"  said  Rhoda. 

An  aroused  suspicion  shot  into  Mrs.  Daye's 
brown  eyes.  "  What  point,  pray  ?  No  nonsense, 
now,  Rhoda ! " 

"  No  nonsense  this  time,  mummie ;  but  no 
wedding  either.  I  have  decided — finally — not  to 
marry  Mr.  Ancram." 

Mrs.  Daye  sat  upright — pretty,  plump,  deter- 
mined. She  really  looked  at  the  moment  as  if 
she  could  impose  her  ideas  upon  anybody.  She 
had  a  perception  of  the  effect,  to  this  end,  of  an 
impressive  tournure.  Involuntarily  she  put  a 
wispish  curl  in  its  place,  and  presented  to  her 
daughter  the  outline  of  an  unexceptionable 
shoulder  and  sleeve. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^5 

"  Your  decision  comes  too  late  to  be  effectual, 
Rhoda.  People  do  not  change  their  minds  in 
such  matters  when  the  wedding-  invitations  are 
actually— 

"  Written  out  to  be  lithographed — but  not 
ordered  yet,  mummie." 

"  In  half  an  hour  they  will  be." 

"  Would  have  been,  mummie  dear." 

Mrs.  Daye  assumed  the  utmost  severity  pos- 
sible to  a  countenance  intended  to  express  only 
the  amenities  of  life,  and  took  her  three  steps 
toward  the  door.  "  This  is  childish,  Rhoda," 
she  said  over  her  shoulder,  "  and  I  will  not 
remain  to  listen  to  it.  Retraction  on  your  part 
at  this  hour  would  be  nothing  short  of  a  crying 
scandal,  and  I  assure  you  once  for  all  that 
neither  your  father  nor  I  will  hear  of  it." 

Mrs.  Daye  reached  the  door  very  success- 
fully. Rhoda  turned  her  head  on  its  cushion, 
and  looked  after  her  mother  in  silence,  with  a 
half-deprecating  smile.  Having  achieved  the 
effect  of  her  retreat,  that  lady  turned  irresolutely. 

"  I  cannot  remain  to  listen  to  it,"  she  re- 
peated, and  stooped  to  pick  up  a  pin. 


l66  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

"  Oh,  do  remain,  mummie !  Don't  behave 
like  the  haughty  and  hard-hearted  mamma  of 
primitive  fiction ;  she  is  such  an  old-fashioned 
person.  Do  remain  and  be  a  nice,  reasonable, 
up-to-date  mummie :  it  will  save  such  a  lot  of 
trouble." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  realise  what  you  are 
talking  of  throwing  over !  " 

Mrs.  Daye,  in  an  access  of  indignation,  came 
as  far  back  as  the  piano. 

"  Going  down  to  dinner  before  the  wives  of 
the  Small  Cause  Court!  What  a  worldly  lady 
it  is  !  " 

"  I  wish,"  Mrs.  Daye  ejaculated  mentally, 
"  that  I  had  been  brought  up  to  manage  daugh- 
ters." What  she  said  aloud,  with  the  effect  of 
being  forced  to  do  so,  was  that  Rhoda  had  also 
apparently  forgotten  that  her  sister  Lettice  was 
to  come  out  next  year.  Before  the  gravity  of 
this  proposition  Mrs.  Daye  sank  into  the  nearest 
chair.  And  the  expense,  with  new  frocks  for 
Darjiling,  would  be  really 

"  All  the  arguments  familiar  to  the  pages  of 
the  Family  Herald"  the  girl  retorted,  a  dash  of 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^7 

bitterness  in  her  amusement,  "  '  with  a  little  store 
of  maxims,  preaching  down  a  daughter's  heart ! ' 
Aren't  you  ashamed,  mummie  !  But  you  needn't 
worry  about  that.  I'll  go  back  to  England  and 
live  with  Aunt  Jane :  she  dotes  on  me.  Or  I'll 
enter  the  Calcutta  Medical  College  and  qualify 
as  a  lady-doctor.  I  shouldn't  like  the  cutting  up, 
though — I  really  shouldn't." 

"  Rhoda,  tu  me  fais  mat!  If  you  could  only 
be  serious  for  five  minutes  together.  I  suppose 
you  have  some  absurd  idea  that  Mr.  Ancram  is 
not  sufficiently — demonstrative.  But  that  will 
all  come  in  due  time,  dear." 

The  girl  laughed  so  uncontrollably  that  Mrs. 
Daye  suspected  herself  of  an  unconscious  witti- 
cism, and  reflected  a  compromising  smile. 

"  You  think  I  could  win  his  affections  after- 
wards. Oh !  I  should  despair  of  it.  You  have 
no  idea  how  coy  he  is,  mummie  !  " 

Mrs.  Daye  made  a  little  grimace  of  sym- 
pathy, and  threw  up  her  eyes  and  her  hands. 
They  laughed  together,  and  then  the  elder  lady 
said  with  severity  that  her  daughter  was  posi- 
tively indecorous.  "  Nothing  could  have  been 


1 68  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

more  devoted  than  his  conduct  yesterday  after- 
noon. '  How  ridiculously  happy/  was  what 
Mrs.  St.  George  said — '  how  ridiculously  happy 
those  two  are  ! ' 

Mrs.  Daye  had  become  argumentative  and 
plaintive.  She  imparted  the  impression  that 
if  there  was  another  point  of  view — which  she 
doubted — she  was  willing  to  take  it. 

"  Oh !  no  doubt  it  was  evident  enough," 
Rhoda  said  tranquilly  :  "  we  had  both  been  let 
off  a  bad  bargain.  An  afternoon  I  shall  al- 
ways remember  with  pleasure." 

"  Then  you  have  actually  done  it — broken 
with  him  !  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Irrevocably  ?  " 

"  Very  much  so." 

"  Do  tell  me  how  he  took  it !  " 

"  Calmly.  With  admirable  fortitude.  It  oc- 
cupied altogether  about  ten  minutes,  with 
digressions.  I've  never  kept  any  of  his  notes 
— he  doesn't  write  clever  notes — and  you  know 
I've  always  refused  to  wear  a  ring.  So  there 
was  nothing  to  return  except  Buzz,  which 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ifig 

wouldn't  have  been  fair  to  Buzz.  It  won't 
make  a  scandal,  will  it,  my  keeping  Buzz  ? 
He's  quite  a  changed  dog  since  I've  had  him, 
and  I  love  him  for  himself  alone.  He  doesn't 
look  in  the  least,"  Rhoda  added,  thoughtfully 
regarding  the  terrier  curled  up  on  the  sofa, 
who  turned  his  brown  eyes  on  her  and  wagged 
his  tail  without  moving,  "  like  a  Secretariat 
puppy." 

"  And  is  that  all  ?  " 

"  That's  all— practically." 

"  Well,  Rhoda,  of  course  I  had  to  think  of 
your  interests  first — any  mother  would  ;  but  if 
it's  really  quite  settled,  I  must  confess  that  I 
believe  you  are  well  out  of  it,  and  I'm  rather 
relieved  myself.  When  I  thought  of  being  that 
man's  mother-in-law  I  used  to  be  thankful  some- 
times that  your  father  would  retire  so  soon — 
which  was  horrid,  dear." 

"  I  can  understand   your  feelings,  mummie." 

"  I'm  sure  you  can,  dear :  you  are  always  my 
sympathetic  child.  /  wouldn't  have  married  him 
for  worlds !  I  never  could  imagine  how  you 
made  up  your  mind  to  it  in  the  first  place. 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

Now,  I  suppose  that  absurd  Mrs.  St.  George 
will  go  on  with  her  theory  that  no  daughter 
of  mine  will  ever  marry  in  India,  because  the 
young  men  find  poor  old  me  so  amusing ! " 

"  She's  a  clever  woman — Mrs.  St.  George," 
Rhoda  observed. 

"  And  now  that  we've  had  our  little  talk, 
dear,  there's  one  thing  I  should  like  you  to 
take  back — that  quotation  from  Longfellow,  or 
was  it  Mrs.  Hemans  ? — about  a  daughter's  heart, 
you  know."  Mrs.  Daye  inclined  her  head  coax- 
ingly  towards  the  side.  "  I  shouldn't  like  to  have 
that  to  remember  between  us,  dear,"  she  said, 
and  blew  her  nose  with  as  close  an  approach 
to  sentiment  as  could  possibly  be  achieved  in 
connection  with  that  organ. 

"  You  ridiculous  old  mummie  !  I  assure  you 
it  hadn't  the  slightest  application." 

"  Then  that's  all  right,"  Mrs.  Daye  returned, 
in  quite  her  sprightly  manner.  "  I'll  refuse  the 
St.  Georges'  dinner  on  Friday  night ;  it's  only 
decent  that  we  should  keep  rather  quiet  for  a 
fortnight  or  so,  till  it  blows  over  a  little.  And 
we  shall  get  rid  of  you,  my  dear  child,  I'm 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  j^j 

perfectly  certain,  quite  soon  enough,"  she  added 
over  her  shoulder,  as  she  rustled  out.  "  With 
your  brains,  you  might  even  marry  very  well 
at  home.  But  your  father  is  sure  to  be  put  out 
about  this — awfully  put  out !  " 

"  Do  you  know,  Buzz,"  murmured  Rhoda  a 
moment  later  (the  terrier  had  jumped  into  her 
lap),  "  if  I  had  been  left  an  orphan  in  my  early 
youth,  I  fancy  I  would  have  borne  it  better  than 
most  people." 


12 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE  editor  of  the  Word  of  Truth  sat  in  his 
office  correcting-  a  proof.  The  proof  looked  in- 
surmountably difficult  of  correction,  because  it 
was  printed  in  Bengali ;  but  Tarachand  Mooker- 
jee's  eye  ran  over  it  nimbly,  and  was  accom- 
panied by  a  smile,  ever  expanding  and  contract- 
ing, of  pleased,  almost  childish  appreciation. 
The  day  was  hot,  unusually  so  for  February ; 
and  as  the  European  editors  up-town  worked 
in  their  shirt-sleeves,  so  Tarachand  Mookerjee 
worked  in  his  dhoty,  which  left  him  bare  from 
his  waist  up — bare  and  brown  and  polished,  like 
a  figure  carved  in  mahogany,  for  his  ribs  were 
very  visible.  He  wore  nothing  else,  except 
patent  leather  shoes  and  a  pair  of  white  cot- 
ton stockings,  originally  designed  for  a  more 
muscular  limb,  if  for  a  weaker  sex.  These 
draperies  were  confined  below  the  knee  by 

178 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^3 

pieces  of  the  red  tape  with  which  a  consider- 
ate Government  tied  up  the  reports  and  res- 
olutions it  sent  the  editor  of  the  Word  of 
Truth  for  review.  Above  Tarachand's  three- 
cornered  face  his  crisp  black  hair  stood  in 
clumps  of  oily  and  admired  disorder ;  he  had 
early  acquired  the  literary  habit  of  running  his 
fingers  through  it.  He  had  gentle,  velvety  eyes, 
and  delicate  features,  and  a  straggling  beard. 
He  had  lost  two  front  teeth,  and  his  attenuated 
throat  was  well  sunk  between  his  narrow  shoul- 
ders. This  gave  him  the  look  of  a  poor  nervous 
creature ;  and,  indeed,  there  was  not  a  black-and- 
white  terrier  in  Calcutta  that  could  not  have 
frightened  him  horribly.  Yet  he  was  not  in 
the  least  afraid  of  a  watch-dog  belonging  to 
Government — an  official  translator  who  weekly 
rendered  up  a  confidential  report  of  the  emana- 
tions of  the  Word  of  Truth  in  English — because 
he  knew  that  this  animal's  teeth  were  drawn  by 
the  good  friends  of  Indian  progress  in  the  Eng- 
lish Parliament. 

Tarachand   did    almost  everything   that    had 
to   be  done   for  the    Word  of  Truth   except  the 


HJS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

actual  printing ;  although  he  had  a  nephew 
at  the  Scotch  Mission  College  who  occasion- 
ally wrote  a  theatrical  notice  for  him  in  con- 
sideration of  a  free  ticket,  and  who  never 
ceased  to  urge  him  to  print  the  paper  in 
English,  so  that  he,  the  nephew,  might  have 
an  opportunity  of  practising  composition  in  that 
language.  It  was  Tarachand  who  translated  the 
news  out  of  the  European  papers  into  his  own 
columns,  where  it  read  backwards,  who  reviewed 
the  Bengali  school-books  written  by  the  pundits 
of  his  acquaintance,  who  "  fought "  the  case  of 
the  baboo  in  the  Public  Works  Department 
dismissed  for  the  trivial  offence  of  stealing  blot- 
ting-paper. It  was,  above  all,  Tarachand  who 
wrote  editorials  about  the  conduct  of  the  Gov- 
ernment of  India:  that  was  the  business  of  his 
life,  his  morning  and  his  evening  meditation. 
Tarachand  had  a  great  pull  over  the  English 
editors  uptown  here ;  had  a  great  pull,  in  fact, 
over  any  editors  anywhere  who  felt  compelled 
to  base  their  opinions  upon  facts,  or  to  express 
them  with  an  eye  upon  consequences.  Tara- 
chand knew  nothing  about  facts — it  is  doubtful 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  j^j 

whether  he  would  recognise  one  if  he  saw  it — 
and  consequences  did  not  exist  for  him.  In  place 
of  these  drawbacks  he  had  the  great  advantages 
of  imagination  and  invective.  He  was  therefore 
able  to  write  the  most  graphic  editorials. 

He  believed  them,  too,  with  the  open-minded, 
admiring  simplicity  that  made  him  wax  and 
wane  in  smiles  over  this  particular  proof.  I 
doubt  whether  Tarachand  could  be  brought  to 
understand  the  first  principles  of  veracity  as  ap- 
plied to  public  affairs,  unless  possibly  through  his 
pocket.  A  definition  to  the  Aryan  mind  is  al- 
ways best  made  in  rupees,  and  to  be  mulcted 
heavily  by  a  court  of  law  might  give  him  a 
grieved  and  surprised,  but  to  some  extent  con- 
vincing education  in  political  ethics.  It  would 
necessarily  interfere  at  the  same  time,  however, 
with  his  untrammelled  and  joyous  talent  for  the 
creation  and  circulation  of  cheap  fiction ;  it 
would  be  a  hard  lesson,  and  in  the  course  of  it 
Tarachand  would  petition  with  fervid  loyalty  and 
real  tears.  Perhaps  it  was  on  some  of  these 
accounts  that  the  Government  of  India  had  never 
run  Tarachand  in. 


176  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

Even  for  an  editor's  office  it  was  a  small 
room,  and  though  it  was  on  the  second  floor,  the 
walls  looked  as  if  fungi  grew  on  them  in  the 
rains.  The  floor  was  littered  with  publications ; 
for  the  Word  of  Truth  was  taken  seriously  in 
Asia  and  in  Oxford,  and  "  exchanged "  with  a 
number  of  periodicals  devoted  to  theosophical 
research,  or  the  destruction  of  the  opium  reve- 
nue, or  the  protection  of  the  sacred  cow  by  com- 
bination against  the  beef-eating  Briton.  In  one 
corner  lay  a  sprawling  blue  heap  of  the  reports 
and  resolutions  before  mentioned,  accumulating 
the  dust  of  the  year,  at  the  end  of  which 
Tarachand  would  sell  them  for  waste  paper. 
For  the  rest,  there  was  the  editorial  desk,  with 
a  chair  on  each  side  of  it,  the  editorial  gum-pot 
and  scissors  and  waste-paper  basket ;  and  por- 
traits, cut  from  the  Illustrated  London  News, 
askew  on  the  wall  and  wrinkling  in  their  frames, 
of  Max  Miiller  and  Lord  Ripon.  The  warm  air 
was  heavy  with  the  odour  of  fresh  printed  sheets, 
and  sticky  with  Tarachand's  personal  anointing 
of  cocoa-nut  oil,  and  noisy  with  the  clamping 
of  the  press  below,  the  scolding  of  the  crows, 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ijj 

the  eternal  wrangle  of  the  streets.  Through  the 
open  window  one  saw  the  sunlight  lying  blindly 
on  the  yellow-and-pink  upper  stories,  with  their 
winding  outer  staircases  and  rickety  balconies 
and  narrow  barred  windows,  of  the  court 
below. 

Tarachand  finished  his  proof  and  put  it  aside 
to  cough.  He  was  bent  almost  double,  and  still 
coughing  when  Mohendra  Lai  Chuckerbutty 
came  in  ;  so  that  the  profusion  of  smiles  with 
which  he  welcomed  his  brother  journalist  was 
not  undimmed  with  tears.  They  embraced  stren- 
uously, however,  and  Mohendra,  with  a  corner 
of  his  nether  drapery,  tenderly  wiped  the  eyes 
of  Tarachand.  For  the  moment  the  atmosphere 
became  doubly  charged  with  oil  and  sentiment, 
breaking  into  a  little  storm  of  phrases  of  affec- 
tion and  gestures  of  respect.  When  it  had  been 
gone  through  with,  these  gentlemen  of  Bengal 
sat  opposite  each  other  beaming,  and  turned 
their  conversation  into  English  as  became  gen- 
tlemen of  Bengal. 

"  I  deplore,"  said  Mohendra  Lai  Chucker- 
butty concernedly,  with  one  fat  hand  outspread 


!78  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

on  his  knee,  "  to  see  that  this  iss  still  remaining 
with  you— 

The  other,  with  a  gesture,  brushed  his  ailment 
away.  "Oh,  it  iss  nothing — nothing  whatever! 
I  have  been  since  three  days  under  astronomical 
treatment  of  Dr.  Chatterjee.  '  Sir,'  he  remarked 
me  yesterday,  as  I  was  leaving  his  howwse, 
'after  one  month  you  will  be  again  salubrious. 
You  will  be  on  legs  again — take  my  word  ! ' ' 

Mohendra  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  put  his 
head  on  one  side,  and  described  a  right  angle 
with  one  leg  and  the  knee  of  the  other.  "  Smart 
chap,  Chatterjee ! "  he  said,  in  perfect  imitation 
of  the  casual  sahib.  He  did  not  even  forget  to 
smooth  his  chin  judicially  as  he  said  it.  The 
editor  of  the  Word  of  Truth,  whose  social  oppor- 
tunities had  been  limited  to  his  own  caste,  looked 
on  with  admiration. 

"  And  what  news  do  you  bring?  But  already 
I  have  perused  the  Bengal  Free  Press  of  to-day, 
so  without  doubt  I  know  all  the  news ! "  Tara- 
chand  made  this  professional  compliment  as 
coyly  and  insinuatingly  as  if  he  and  Mohendra 
had  been  sweethearts.  "  I  cannot  withhold  my 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

congratulations  on  that  leader  of  thiss  morning," 
he  went  on  fervently.  "  Here  it  is  to  my  hand ; 
diligently  I  have  been  studying  it  with  awful 
admiration." 

Mohendra's  chin  sank  into  his  neck  in  a  series 
of  deprecating  nods  and  inarticulate  expressions 
of  dissent,  and  his  eyes  glistened.  Tarachand 
took  up  the  paper  and  read  from  it : — 

"'THE  SATRAP  AND  THE  COLLEGES.' 

"  Ah,  how  will  His  Honour  look  when  he  sees 
that! 

"'Is  it  possible,  we  ask  all  sane  men  with  a  heart 
in  their  bosom,  that  Dame  Rumour  is  right  in  her 
prognostications  ?  Can  it  be  true  that  the  tyrant  of 
Belvedere  will  dare  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  revenue 
sacredly  put  aside  to  shower  down  upon  our  young 
hopefuls  the  mother's  milk  of  an  Alma  Mater  upon 
any  pretext  whatsoever  ?  We  fear  the  affirmative. 
Even  as  we  go  to  press  the  knell  of  higher  education 
may  be  sounding,  and  any  day  poor  Bengal  may  learn 
from  a  rude  Notification  in  the  Gazette  that  her  hope 
of  progress  has  been  shattered  by  the  blasting  pen  of 
the  caitiff  Church.  We  will  not  mince  matters,  nor 
hesitate  to  proclaim  to  the  housetops  that  the  author 


l8o  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

of  this  dastardly  action  is  but  a  poor  stick.  Doubt- 
less he  will  say  that  the  College  grants  are  wanted  for 
this  or  for  that ;  but  full  well  the  people  of  this  prov- 
ince know  it  is  to  swell  the  fat  pay  of  boot-licking 
English  officials  that  they  are  wanted.  A  wink  is  as 
good  as  a  nod  to  a  blind  horse,  and  any  excuse  will 
serve  when  an  autocrat  without  fear  of  God  or  man 
sits  upon  the  gaddi.  Many  are  the  pitiable  cases  of 
hardship  that  will  now  come  to  view.  One  amongst 
thousands  will  serve.  Known  to  the  writer  is  a  family 
man,  and  a  large  one.  He  has  been  blessed  with 
seven  sons,  all  below  the  age  of  nine.  Up  to  the 
present  he  has  been  joyous  as  a  lark  and  playful  as  a 
kitten,  trusting  in  the  goodness  of  Government  to 
provide  the  nutrition  of  their  minds  and  livelihoods. 
Now  he  is  beating  his  breast,  for  his  treasures  will  be 
worse  than  orphans.  How  true  are  the  words  of  the 
poet — 

"  '  Manners  with  fortunes,  humours  turn  with  climes, 
Tenets  with  books,  and  principles  with  times!' 

Again  and  yet  again  have  we  exposed  the  hollow, 
heartless  and  vicious  policy  of  the  acting  Lieutenant- 
Governor,  but,  alas!  without  result. 

"  '  Destroy  his  fib  or  sophistry — in  vain  ; 
The  creature's  at  his  dirty  work  again  ! ' 

But  will  this  province  sit  tamely  down  under  its 
brow-beating  ?  A  thousand  times  no !  We  will 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  jgj 

appeal  to  the  justice,  to  the  mercy  of  England, 
through  our  noble  friends  in  Parliament,  and  the  lash 
will  yet  fall  like  a  scorpion  upon  the  shrinking  hide 
of  the  coward  who  would  filch  the  people  from  their 
rights."' 

Tarachand  stopped  to  cough,  and  his  round 
liquid  eyeballs,  as  he  turned  them  upon  Mo- 
hendra,  stood  out  of  their  creamy  whites  with 
enthusiasm.  "  One  word,"  he  cried,  as  soon  as 
he  had  breath :  "  you  are  the  Macaulay  of 
Bengal !  No  less.  The  Macaulay  of  Bengal !  " 

(John  Church,  when  he  read  Mohendra's 
article  next  day,  laughed,  but  uneasily.  He 
knew  that  in  all  Bengal  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
a  sense  of  humour.) 

"  My  own  feeble  pen,"  Tarachand  went  on 
deprecatingly,  "  has  been  busy  at  this  thing  for 
the  to-morrow's  issue.  I  also  have  been  saying 
some  worthless  remark,  perhaps  not  altogether 
beyond  the  point,"  and  the  corrected  proof  went 
across  the  table  to  Mohendra.  While  he  glanced 
through  it  Tarachand  watched  him  eagerly,  re- 
flecting every  shade  of  expression  that  passed 
over  the  other  man's  face.  When  Mohendra 


!82  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

smiled  Tarachand  laughed  out  with  delight, 
when  Mohendra  looked  grave  Tarachand's 
countenance  was  sunk  in  melancholy. 

"  '  Have  the  hearts  of  the  people  of  India  turned  to 
water  that  any  son  of  English  mud  may  ride  over 
their  prostrate  forms  ? ' ' 

he  read  aloud  in  Bengali.     "  That  is  well  said. 

"  '  Too  often  the  leaders  of  the  people  have  waited 
on  the  Lieutenant-Governor  to  explain  desirable 
matters,  but  the  counsel  of  grey  hairs  has  not  been 
respected.  Three  Vedas,  and  the  fourth  a  cudgel ! 
The  descendants  of  monkeys  have  forgotten  that 
once  before  they  played  too  many  tricks.  The  white 
dogs  want  another  lesson.' 

"A-ha!"  Mohendra  paused  to  comment, 
smiling.  "  Very  good  talk.  But  it  is  necessary 
also  to  be  a  little  careful.  After  that — it  is  my 
advice — you  say  how  Bengalis  are  loyal  before 
everything." 

The  editor  of  the  Word  of  Truth  slowly 
shook  his  head,  showing,  in  his  contemptuous 
amusement,  a  row  of  glittering  teeth  stained  with 
the  red  of  the  betel.  "  No  harm  can  come,"  he 
said.  "  They  dare  not  muzzle  thee  press." 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^3 

The  phrase  was  pat  and  familiar.  "  When  the 
loin-cloth  burns  one  must  speak  out.  I  am  a 
poor  man,  and  I  have  sons.  Where  is  their  rice 
to  come  from?  Am  I  a  man  without  shame, 
that  I  should  let  the  Sirkar  turn  them  into 
carpenters  ?  "  In  his  excitement  Tarachand  had 
dropped  into  his  own  tongue. 

"'Education  to  Bengalis  is  as  dear  as  religion. 
They  have  fought  for  religion,  they  may  well 
fight  for  education.  Let  the  game  go  on ;  let  Euro- 
pean officials  grow  fat  on  our  taxes;  let  the 
wantons,  their  women,  dance  in  the  arms  of  men, 
and  look  into  their  faces  with  impudence,  at  the 
tamashos  of  the  Burra  Lat  as  before.  But  if  the 
Sirkar  robs  the  poor  Bengali  of  his  education  let  him 
beware.  He  will  become  without  wings  or  feathers, 
while  Shiva  will  protect  the  helpless  and  those  with  a 
just  complaint.' 

"  Without  doubt  that  will  make  a  sensation" 
Mohendra  said,  handing  back  the  proof.  "  With- 
out  doubt !  You  can  have  much  more  the 
courage  of  your  opinion  in  the  vernacular. 
English — that  iss  another  thing.  I  wrote  myse'- 
£lf,  last  week,  some  issmall  criticism  on  the 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

Chairman  of  the  Municipality,  maybe  half  a 
column — about  that  new  drain  in  Colootollah 
which  we  must  put  our  hand  in  our  pocket. 
Yesterda-ay  I  met  the  Chairman  on  the  Red 
Road,  and  he  takes  no  notiss  off  my  face !  That 
was  not  pleasant.  To-day  I  am  writing  on 
issecond  thoughts  we  cannot  live  without  drain- 
age, and  I  will  send  him  marked  copy.  But  in 
that  way  it  iss  troublesome,  the  English." 

"  These  Europeans  they  have  no  eye-shame. 
They  are  entirely  made  of  wood.  But  I  think 
this  Notification  will  be  a  nice  kettle  of  fish  ! 
Has  the  Committee  got  isspeakers  for  the  mass 
meeting  on  the  Maidan?" 

Mohendra  nodded  complacently.  "  Already 
it  is  being  arranged.  For  a  month  I  have  known 
every  word  spoken  by  His  Honour  on  this  thing. 
I  have  the  best  information.  Every  week  I  am 
watching  the  Gazette.  The  morning  of  publica- 
tion ekdum  *  goes  telegram  to  our  good  friend 
in  Parliament.  Agitation  in  England,  agitation 
in  India!  Either  will  come  another  Royal  Com- 

*  In  one  breath. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  ^5 

mission  to  upset  the  thing,  or  the  Lieutenant- 
Governor  is  forced  to  retire." 

Mohendra's  nods  became  oracular.  Then 
his  expression  grew  seriously  regretful.  "  Myse- 
elf  I  hope  they  will — what  iss  it  in  English? — 
w'itewass  him  with  a  commission.  It  goes  against 
me  to  see  disgrace  on  a  high  official.  It  is  not 
pleasant.  He  means  well — he  means  well.  And 
at  heart  he  is  a  very  good  fellow — personally  I 
have  had  much  agreeable  conversation  with  him. 
Always  he  has  asked  me  to  his  garden-parties." 

"  He  has  set  fire  to  his  own  beard,  brother," 
said  the  editor  of  the  Word  of  Truth  in  the 
vernacular,  spitting. 

"  Very  true — oh,  very  true !  And  all  the 
more  we  must  attack  him  because  I  see  the  rep- 
tile English  press,  in  Calcutta,  in  Bombay,  in  Alla- 
habad, they  are  upholding  this  dacoity.  That  iss 
the  only  word — dacoity."  Mohendra  rose.  "And 
we  two  have  both  off  us  the  best  occasion  to 
fight,"  he  added  beamingly,  as  he  took  his  de- 
parture, "  for  did  we  not  graduate  hand  in  hand 
that  same  year  out  off  Calcutta  University  ? " 


!86  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

"  God  knows,  Ancram,  I  believe  it  is  the 
right  thing  to  do  !  " 

John  Church  had  reached  his  difficult  mo- 
ment— the  moment  he  had  learned  to  dread.  It 
lay  in  wait  for  him  always  at  the  end  of  un- 
baffled  investigation,  of  hard-fast  steering  by  prin- 
ciple, of  determined  preliminary  action  of  every 
kind — the  actual  executive  moment.  Neither 
the  impulse  of  his  enthusiasm  nor  the  force  of 
his  energy  ever  sufficed  to  carry  him  over  it 
comfortably ;  rather,  at  this  point,  they  ebbed 
back,  leaving  him  stranded  upon  his  responsi- 
bility, which  invariably  at  once  assumed  the 
character  of  a  quicksand.  He  was  never  de- 
feated by  himself  at  these  junctures,  but  he 
hated  them.  He  turned  out  from  himself  then, 
consciously  seeking  support  and  reinforcement, 
to  which  at  other  times  he  was  indifferent ;  and 
it  was  in  a  crisis  of  desire  for  encouragement 
that  he  permitted  himself  to  say  to  Lewis 
Ancram  that  God  knew  he  believed  the  Col- 
lege Grants  Notification  was  the  right  thing  to  do. 
He  had  asked  Ancram  to  wait  after  the  Council 
meeting  was  over  very  much  for  this  purpose. 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^7 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  Chief  Secretary  replied  ;  "  if 
I  may  be  permitted  to  say  so,  it  is  the  most 
conscientious  piece  of  legislation  of  recent 
years." 

The  Lieutenant- Governor  looked  anxiously 
at  Ancram  from  under  his  bushy  eyebrows,  and 
then  back  again  at  the  Notification.  It  lay  in 
broad  margined  paragraphs  of  beautiful  round 
baboo's  handwriting,  covering  a  dozen  pages  of 
foolscap,  before  him  on  the  table.  It  waited  only 
for  his  ultimate  decision  to  go  to  the  Government 
Printing  Office  and  appear  in  the  Gazette  and  be 
law  to  Bengal.  Already  he  had  approved  each 
separate  paragraph.  His  Chief  Secretary  had 
never  turned  out  a  better  piece  of  work. 

"  To  say  precisely  what  is  in  my  mind, 
Ancram,"  Church  returned,  beginning  to  pace 
the  empty  chamber,  "  I  have  sometimes  thought 
that  you  were  not  wholly  with  me  in  this 
matter." 

"  I  will  not  disguise  from  you,  sir  " — Ancram 
spoke  with  candid  emphasis — "  that  I  think  it's  a 
risky  thing  to  do,  a — deuced  risky  thing."  His 

Honour  was  known  to  dislike  strong  language. 
13 


1 88  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A  LADY. 

"  But  as  to  the  principle  involved  there  can  be 
no  two  opinions." 

His  Honour's  gaunt  shadow  passed  and  re- 
passed  against  the  oblong  patch  of  westering 
February  sunlight  that  lightened  the  opposite 
wall  before  he  replied. 

"  I  am  prepared  for  an  outcry,"  he  said 
slowly  at  last.  "  I  think  I  can  honestly  say  that 
I  am  concerned  only  with  the  principle — with 
the  possible  harm,  and  the  probable  good." 

Ancram  felt  a  rising  irritation.  He  reflected 
that  if  His  Honour  had  chosen  to  take  him  into 
confidence  earlier,  he — Mr.  Ancram — might  have 
been  saved  a  considerable  amount  of  moral  un- 
pleasantness. By  taking  him  into  confidence 
now  the  Lieutenant-Governor  merely  added  to 
it  appreciably  and,  Ancram  pointed  out  to  him- 
self, undeservedly.  He  played  with  his  watch- 
chain  for  distraction,  and  looked  speculatively 
at  the  Notification,  and  said  that  one  thing  was 
certain,  they  could  depend  upon  His  Excellency 
if  it  came  to  any  nonsense  with  the  Secretary  of 
State.  "  Scansleigh  is  loyal  to  his  very  marrow. 
He'll  stand  by  us,  whatever  happens."  No  one 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

admired  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  the 
Viceroy  of  India  more  than  the  Chief  Secretary 
of  the  Government  of  Bengal. 

"  Scansleigh  sees  it  as  I  do,"  Church  re- 
turned ;  "  and  I  see  it  plainly.  At  least  I  have 
not  spared  myself — nor  any  one  else,"  he  added, 
with  a  smile  of  admission  which  was  at  the 
moment  pathetic,  "  in  working  the  thing  up. 
My  action  has  no  bearing  that  I  have  not  care- 
fully examined.  Nothing  can  result  from  it 
that  I  do  not  expect — at  least  approximately — 
to  happen." 

Ancram  almost  imperceptibly  raised  his  eye- 
brows. The  gesture,  with  its  suggestion  of  dra- 
matic superiority,  was  irresistible  to  him  ;  he 
would  have  made  it  if  Church  had  been  looking 
at  him  ;  but  the  eyes  of  the  Lieutenant-Governor 
were  fixed  upon  the  sauntering  multitude  in  the 
street  below.  He  turned  from  the  window,  and 
went  on  with  a  kind  of  passion. 

"  I  tell  you,  Ancram,  I  feel  my  responsibility 
in  this  thing,  and  I  will  not  carry  it  any  longer 
in  the  shape  of  a  curse  to  my  country.  I  don't 
speak  of  the  irretrievable  mischief  that  is  being 


igO  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A    LADY. 

done  by  the  wholesale  creation  of  a  clerkly  class 
for  whom  there  is  no  work,  or  of  the  danger  of 
putting  that  sharpest  tool  of  modern  progress- 
higher  education — into  hands  that  can  only  use  it 
to  destroy.  When  we  have  helped  these  people 
to  shatter  all  their  old  notions  of  reverence  and 
submission  and  self-abnegation  and  piety,  and 
given  them,  for  such  ideals  as  their  fathers  had, 
the  scepticism  and  materialism  of  the  West,  I 
don't  know  that  we  shall  have  accomplished 
much  to  our  credit.  But  let  that  pass.  The  ulti- 
mate consideration  is  this :  You  know  and  I  know 
where  the  money  comes  from — the  three  lakhs 
and  seventy-five  thousand  rupees — that  goes 
every  year  to  make  B.A.s  of  Calcutta  University. 
It's  a  commonplace  to  say  that  it  is  sweated  in 
annas  and  pice  out  of  the  cultivators  of  the 
villages — poor  devils  who  live  and  breed  and 
rot  in  pest-stricken  holes  we  can't  afford  to  drain 
for  them,  who  wear  one  rag  the  year  through 
and  die  of  famine  when  the  rice  harvest  fails ! 
The  ryot  pays,  that  the  money-lender  who  screws 
him  and  the  landowner  who  bullies  him  may 
give  their  sons  a  cheap  European  education." 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  lgl 

"The  wonder  is,"  Ancram  replied,  "that  it 
has  not  been  acknowledged  a  beastly  shame  long 
ago.  The  vested  interest  has  never  been  very 
strong." 

"  Ah  well,"  Church  said  more  cheerfully,  "  we 
have  provided  for  the  vested  interest ;  and  my 
technical  schools  will,  I  hope,  go  some  little  way 
toward  providing  for  the  cultivators.  At  all 
events  they  will  teach  him  to  get  more  out  of 
his  fields.  It's  a  tremendous  problem,  that,"  he 
added,  refolding  the  pages  with  a  last  glance, 
and  slipping  them  into  their  cover :  "  the  ratio 
at  which  population  is  increasing  out  here  and 
the  limited  resources  of  the  soil." 

He  had  reassumed  the  slightly  pedantic  man- 
ner that  was  characteristic  of  him ;  he  was  again 
dependent  upon  himself,  and  resolved. 

"  Send  it  off  at  once,  will  you  ?  "  he  said  ;  and 
Ancram  gave  the  packet  to  a  waiting  messenger. 
"  A  weighty  business  off  my  mind,"  he  added, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  Upon  my  word,  Ancram, 
I  am  surprised  to  find  you  so  completely  in 
accord  with  me.  I  fancied  you  would  have  ob- 
jections to  make  at  the  last  moment,  and  that  I 


192  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

should  have  to  convince  you.  I  rather  wanted 
to  convince  somebody.  But  I  am  very  pleased 
indeed  to  be  disappointed  !  " 

"  It  is  a  piece  of  work  which  has  my  sincerest 
admiration,  sir,"  Ancram  answered  ;  and  as  the 
two  men  descended  the  staircases  from  the  Ben- 
gal Council  Chamber  to  the  street,  the  Lieuten- 
ant-Governor's hand  rested  upon  the  arm  of  his 
Chief  Secretary  in  a  way  that  was  almost  affec- 
tionate. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THREE  days  later  the  Notification  appeared. 
John  Church  sat  tensely  through  the  morning-, 
unconsciously  preparing  himself  for  emergencies 
— deputations,  petitions,  mobs.  None  of  these 
occurred.  The  day  wore  itself  out  in  the  usual 
routine,  and  in  the  evening  His  Honour  was 
somewhat  surprised  to  meet  at  dinner  a  member 
of  the  Viceroy's  Council  who  was  not  aware  that 
anything  had  been  done.  He  turned  with  some 
eagerness  next  morning  to  the  fourth  page  of  his 
newspaper,  and  found  its  leading  article  illumi- 
nating the  subject  of  an  archaeological  discovery 
in  Orissa,  made  some  nine  months  previously. 
The  Lieutenant-Governor  was  an  energetic  per- 
son, and  did  not  understand  the  temper  of  Ben- 
gal. He  had  published  a  Notification  subversive 
of  the  educational  policy  of  the  Government  for 
sixty  years,  and  he  expected  this  proceeding  to 

193 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

excite  immediate  attention.  He  gave  it  an  im- 
portance almost  equal  to  that  of  the  Derby 
Sweepstakes.  This,  however,  was  in  some  de- 
gree excusable,  considering  the  short  time  he  had 
spent  in  Calcutta  and  the  persevering  neglect 
he  had  shown  in  observing  the  tone  of  society. 
Even  the  telegram  to  the  sympathetic  Mem- 
ber of  Parliament  failed  of  immediate  trans- 
mission. Mohendra  Lai  Chuckerbutty  wrote  it 
out  with  emotion ;  then  he  paused,  remembering 
that  the  cost  of  telegrams  paid  for  by  enthusiastic 
private  persons  was  not  easily  recoverable  from 
committees.  Mohendra  was  a  solid  man,  but 
there  were  funds  for  this  purpose.  He  decided 
that  he  was  not  justified  in  speeding  the  nation's 
cry  for  succour  at  his  own  expense  ;  so  he  sub- 
mitted the  telegram  to  the  committee,  which 
met  at  the  end  of  the  week.  The  committee 
asked  Mohendra  to  cut  it  down  and  let  them  see 
it  again.  In  the  end  it  arrived  at  Westminster 
almost  as  soon  as  the  mail.  Mohendra,  besides, 
had  his  hands  and  his  paper  full,  at  the  moment, 
with  an  impassioned  attack  upon  an  impulsive 
judge  of  the  High  Court  who  had  shot  a  bullock 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  ig$ 

with  its  back  broken.  As  to  the  Word  of  Truth, 
Tarachand  Mookerjee  was  celebrating  his  daugh- 
ter's wedding,  at  the  time  the  Notification  was 
published,  with  tom-toms  and  sweetmeats  and  a 
very  expensive  nautch,  and  for  three  days  the 
paper  did  not  appear  at  all. 

The  week  lengthened  out,  and  the  Lieutenant- 
Governor's  anxiety  grew  palpably  less.  His 
confidence  had  returned  to  such  a  degree  that 
when  the  officers  of  the  Education  Department 
absented  themselves  in  a  body  from  the  first  of 
his  succeeding  entertainments  he  was  seriously 
disturbed.  "  It's  childish,"  he  said  to  Judith. 
"  By  my  arrangement  not  a  professor  among 
them  will  lose  a  pice  either  in  pay  or  pension. 
If  the  people  are  anxious  enough  for  higher  edu- 
cation to  pay  twice  as  much  for  it  as  they  do 
now  these  fellows  will  go  on  with  their  lectures. 
If  not,  we'll  turn  them  into  inspectors,  or  super- 
intendents of  the  technical  schools." 

"  I  can  understand  a  certain  soreness  on  the 
subject  of  their  dignity,"  his  wife  suggested. 

Church  frowned  impatiently.  "  People  might 
think  less  of  their  dignity  in  this  country  and 


!^6  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

more  of  their  duty,  with  advantage,"  he  said,  and 
she  understood  that  the  discussion  was  closed. 

The  delay  irritated  Ancram,  who  was  a  man 
of  action.  He  told  other  people  that  he  feared 
it  was  only  the  ominous  lull  before  the  storm, 
and  assured  himself  that  no  man  could  hurry 
Bengal.  Nevertheless,  the  terms  in  which  he 
advised  Mohendra  Lai  Chuckerbutty,  who  came 
to  see  him  every  Sunday  afternoon,  were  suc- 
cessful to  the  point  of  making  that  Aryan  drive 
rather  faster  on  his  way  back  to  the  Bengal  Free 
Press  office.  At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  Mr.  An- 
cram was  able  to  point  to  the  verification  of  his 
prophecy ;  it  had  been  the  lull  before  the  storm, 
which  developed,  two  days  later,  in  the  columns 
of  the  native  press,  into  a  tornado. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  he,  "  you  might  as  well 
petition  Sri  Krishna  as  the  Viceroy,"  when 
Mohendra  Lai  Chuckerbutty  reverted  to  this 
method  of  obtaining  redress.  Mohendra,  who 
was  a  Hindoo  of  orthodoxy,  may  well  have  found 
this  flippant,  but  he  only  smiled,  and  assented, 
and  went  away  and  signed  the  petition.  He 
yielded  to  the  natural  necessity  of  the  pathetic 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^ 

temperament  of  his  countrymen — even  when 
they  were  university  graduates  and  political 
agitators — to  implore  before  they  did  anything 
else.  An  appeal  was  distilled  and  forwarded. 
The  Viceroy  promptly  indicated  the  nature  of 
his  opinions  by  refusing  to  receive  this  document 
unless  it  reached  him  through  the  proper  chan- 
nel— wRich  was  the  Bengal  Government.  The 
prayer  of  humility  then  became  a  shriek  of  defi- 
ance, a  transition  accomplished  with  remarkable 
rapidity  in  Bengal.  In  one  night  Calcutta  flow- 
ered mysteriously  into  col'oured  cartoons,  depict- 
ing the  Lieutenant-Governor  in  the  prisoner's 
dock,  charged  by  the  Secretary  of  State,  on  the 
bench,  with  the  theft  of  bags  of  gold  marked 
"  College  Grants  "  ;  while  the  Director  of  Educa- 
tion, weeping  bitterly,  gave  evidence  against 
him.  The  Lieutenant-Governor  was  represented 
in  a  green  frock-coat  and  the  Secretary  of  State 
in  a  coronet,  which  made  society  laugh,  and 
started  a  wave  of  interest  in  the  College  Grants 
Notification.  John  Church  saw  it  in  people's 
faces  at  his  garden  parties,  and  it  added  to  the 
discomfort  with  which  he  read  advertisements 


!98  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

of  various  mass  meetings,  in  protest,  to  be  held 
throughout  the  province,  and  noticed  among  the 
speakers  invariably  the  unaccustomed  names  of 
the  Rev.  Professor  Porter  of  the  Exeter  Hall 
Institute,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Maclnnes  of  the  Cale- 
donian Mission,  and  Father  Ambrose,  who  ruled 
St.  Dominic's  College,  and  who  certainly  insisted, 
as  part  of  his  curriculum,  upon  the  lives  of  the 
Saints. 

The  afternoon  of  the  first  mass  meeting  in 
Calcutta  closed  into  the  evening  of  the  last 
ball  of  the  season  at  Government  House.  A 
petty  royalty  from  Southern  Europe,  doing 
the  grand  tour,  had  trailed  his  clouds  of  glory 
rather  indolently  late  into  Calcutta  ;  and,  as  so- 
ciety anxiously  emphasized,  there  was  practically 
only  a  single  date  available  before  Lent  for  a 
dance  in  his  honour.  When  it  was  understood 
that  Their  Excellencies  would  avail  themselves 
of  this  somewhat  contracted  opportunity,  society 
beamed  upon  itself,  and  said  it  knew  they  would 
— they  were  the  essence  of  hospitality. 

There  are  three  square  miles  of  the  green 
Maidan,  round  which  Calcutta  sits  in  a  stucco 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

semi-circle,  and  past  which  her  brown  river 
runs  to  the  sea.  Fifteen  thousand  people,  there- 
fore, gathered  in  one  corner  of  it,  made  a 
somewhat  unusually  large  patch  of  white  upon 
the  grass,  but  were  not  otherwise  impressive, 
and  in  no  wise  threatening.  Society,  which  had 
forgotten  about  the  mass  meeting,  put  up  its  eye- 
glass, driving  on  the  Red  Road,  and  said  that 
there  was  evidently  something  "  going  on  " — 
probably  a  football  team  of  Tommies  from  the 
Fort  playing  the  town.  Only  two  or  three 
elderly  officials,  taking  the  evening  freshness  in 
solitary  walks,  looked  with  anxious  irritation  at 
the  densely-packed  mass ;  and  Judith  Church, 
driving  home  through  the  smoky  yellow  twi- 
light, understood  the  meaning  of  the  cheers  the 
south  wind  softened  and  scattered  abroad. 
They  brought  her  a  stricture  of  the  heart 
with  the  thought  of  John  Church's  devotion 
to  these  people.  Ingrates,  she  named  them  to 
herself,  with  compressed  lips — ingrates,  traitors, 
hounds !  Her  eyes  filled  with  the  impotent 
tears  of  a  woman's  pitiful  indignation ;  her 
heart  throbbed  with  a  pang  of  new  recognition 


200  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

of  her  husband's  worth,  and  of  tenderness  for 
it,  and  of  unrecognised  pain  beneath  that  even 
this  could  not  constitute  him  her  hero  and  mas- 
ter. She  asked  herself  bitterly — I  fear  her  poli- 
tics were  not  progressive — what  the  people  in 
England  meant  by  encouraging  open  and  igno- 
rant sedition  in  India,  and  whole  passages  came 
eloquently  into  her  mind  of  the  speech  she 
would  make  in  Parliament  if  she  were  but  a 
man  and  a  member.  They  brought  her  some 
comfort,  but  she  dismissed  them  presently  to 
reflect  seriously  whether  something  might  not 
be  done.  She  looked  courageously  at  the  pos- 
sibility of  imprisoning  Dr.  Maclnnes.  Then  she 
too  thought  of  the  ball,  and  subsided  upon  the 
determination  of  consulting  Lewis  Ancram,  at 
the  ball,  upon  this  point.  She  drew  a  distinct 
ethical  satisfaction  from  her  intention.  It  seemed 
in  the  nature  of  a  justification  for  the  quickly 
pulsating  pleasure  with  which  she  looked  for- 
ward to  the  evening. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

GENTLEMEN  native  to  Bengal  are  not  usually 
invited  to  balls  at  Government  House.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  speak  of  the  ladies  :  they  are 
non-existent  to  the  social  eye,  even  if  it  belongs 
to  a  Viceroy.  The  reason  is  popularly  supposed 
to  be  the  inability  of  gentlemen  native  to  Bengal 
to  understand  the  waltz,  except  by  Aryan  anal- 
ysis. It  is  thought  well  to  circumscribe  their 
opportunities  of  explaining  it  thus,  and  they  are 
asked  instead  to  evening  parties  which  offer 
nothing  more  stimulating  to  the  imagination 
than  conversation  and  champagne — of  neither 
of  which  they  partake.  On  this  occasion,  how- 
ever, at  the  entreaty  of  the  visiting  royalty,  the 
rule  was  relaxed  to  admit  perhaps  fifty ;  and 
when  Lewis  Ancram  arrived — rather  late — the 
first  personality  he  recognised  as  in  any  way 

significant  was  that  of   Mohendra  Lai  Chucker- 

201 


202  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

butty,  who  leaned  against  a  pillar,  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  raptly  contemplating  a 
polka.  Mohendra,  too,  had  an  appreciation  of 
personalities,  and  of  his  respectful  duty  to  them. 
He  bore  down  in  Ancram's  direction  unswerv- 
ingly through  the  throng,  his  eye  humid  with 
happiness,  his  hand  held  out  in  an  impulse  of 
affection.  When  he  thought  he  had  arrived  at 
the  Chief  Secretary's  elbow  he  looked  about  him 
in  some  astonishment.  A  couple  of  subalterns  in 
red  jackets  disputed  with  mock  violence  over  the 
dance-card  of  a  little  girl  in  white,  and  a  much 
larger  lady  was  waiting  with  imposing  patience 
until  he  should  be  pleased  to  get  off  her  train. 
At  the  same  moment  an  extremely  correct  black 
back  glanced  through  the  palms  into  the  ve- 
randah. 

The  verandah  was  very  broad  and  high,  and 
softly  lighted  in  a  way  that  made  vague  glooms 
visible  and  yet  gave  a  gentle  radiance  to  the 
sweep  of  pale-tinted  drapery  that  here  and  there 
suggested  a  lady  sunk  in  the  depths  of  a  roomy 
arm-chair,  playing  with  her  fan  and  talking  in 
undertones.  It  was  a  place  of  delicious  mystery, 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  203 

in  spite  of  the  strains  of  the  orchestra  that 
throbbed  out  from  the  ball-room,  in  spite  of  the 
secluded  fans  opening  and  closing  in  some  com- 
monplace of  Calcutta  flirtation.  The  mystery 
came  in  from  without,  where  the  stars  crowded 
down  thick  and  luminous  behind  the  palms,  and 
a  grey  mist  hung  low  in  the  garden  beneath, 
turning  it  into  a  fantasy  of  shadowed  forms  and 
filmy  backgrounds  and  new  significances.  Out 
there,  in  the  wide  spaces  beyond  the  tall  veran- 
dah pillars,  the  spirit  of  the  spring  was  abroad 
— the  troubled,  throbbing,  solicitous  Indian 
spring,  perfumed  and  tender.  The  air  was 
warm  and  sweet  and  clinging ;  it  made  life  a 
pathetic,  enjoyable  necessity,  and  love  a  luxury 
of  much  refinement. 

Ancram  folded  his  arms  and  stood  in  the 
doorway  and  permitted  himself  to  feel  these 
things.  If  he  was  not  actually  looking  for 
Judith  Church,  it  was  because  he  was  always, 
so  to  speak,  anticipating  her ;  in  a  state  of 
readiness  to  receive  the  impression  of  her  face, 
the  music  of  her  voice.  Mrs.  Church  was  the 

reason  of  the  occasion,  the  reason  of  every  occa- 
14 


204  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

sion  in  so  far  as  it  concerned  him.  She  seemed 
simply  the  corollary  of  his  perception  of  the 
exquisite  night  when  he  discovered  her  present- 
ly, on  one  of  the  more  conspicuous  sofas,  talking 
to  Sir  Peter  Bloomsbury.  She  was  waiting  for 
him  to  find  her,  with  a  little  flickering  smile  that 
came  in  the  pauses  between  Sir  Peter's  remarks ; 
and  when  Ancram  approached  he  noticed,  with 
as  keen  a  pleasure  as  he  was  capable  of  feeling, 
that  her  replies  to  this  dignitary  were  made 
somewhat  at  random. 

Their  conversation  changed  when  Sir  Peter 
went  away  only  to  take  its  note  of  intimacy  and 
its  privilege  of  pauses.  They  continued  to  speak 
of  trivial  matters,  and  to  talk  in  tones  and  in 
things  they  left  unsaid.  His  eyes  lingered  in  the 
soft  depths  of  hers  to  ascertain  whether  the  roses 
were  doing  well  this  year  at  Belvedere,  and  there 
was  a  conscious  happiness  in  the  words  with 
which  she  told  him  that  they  were  quite  beyond 
her  expectations  not  wholly  explicable  even  by 
so  idyllic  a  fact.  The  content  of  their  neigbour- 
hood  surrounded  them  like  an  atmosphere,  be- 
yond which  people  moved  about  irrationally  and 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  205 

a  string  band  played  unmeaning  selections  much 
too  loud.  She  was  lovelier  than  he  had  ever 
seen  her,  more  his  possession  than  he  had  ever 
felt  her — the  incarnation,  as  she  bent  her  graceful 
head  towards  him,  of  the  eloquent  tropical  night 
and  the  dreaming  tropical  spring.  He  told  him- 
self afterwards  that  he  felt  at  this  moment  an 
actual  pang  of  longing,  and  rejoiced  that  he 
could  still  experience  an  undergraduate's  sensa- 
tion after  so  many  years  of  pleasures  that  were 
but  aridly  intellectual  at  their  best.  Certainly,  as 
he  sat  there  in  his  irreproachable  clothes  and 
attitude,  he  knew  that  his  blood  was  beating 
warm  to  his  finger-tips  with  a  delicious  impulse 
to  force  the  sweet  secret  of  the  situation  between 
them.  The  south  wind  suggested  to  him, 
through  the  scent  of  breaking  buds,  that  pru- 
dence was  entirely  a  relative  thing,  and  not  even 
relative  to  a  night  like  this  and  a  woman  like 
that.  As  he  looked  at  a  tendril  of  her  hair, 
blown  against  the  warm  whiteness  of  her  neck, 
it  occurred  to  the  Honourable  Mr.  Ancram  that 
he  might  go  a  little  further.  He  felt  divinely 
rash ;  but  his  intention  was  to  go  only  a  little 


206  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A  LADY. 

further.  Hitherto  he  had  gone  no  distance 
at  all. 

The  south  wind  drove  them  along  together. 
Judith  felt  it  on  her  neck  and  arms,  and  in  little, 
cool,  soft  touches  about  her  face.  She  did  not 
pause  to  question  the  happiness  it  brought  her: 
there  were  other  times  for  pauses  and  questions  ; 
her  eyes  were  ringed  with  them,  under  the 
powder.  She  abandoned  herself  to  her  woman's 
divine  sense  of  ministry ;  and  the  man  she  loved 
observed  that  she  did  it  with  a  certain  inimitable 
poise,  born  of  her  confidence  in  him,  which  was 
as  new  as  it  was  entrancing. 

People  began  to  flock  downstairs  to  supper 
in  the  wake  of  the  Viceroy  and  the  visiting 
royalty;  the  verandah  emptied  itself.  Presently 
they  became  aware  that  they  were  alone. 

"  You  have  dropped  your  fan,"  Ancram  said, 
and  picked  it  up.  He  looked  at  its  device  for 
a  moment,  and  then  restored  it.  Judith's  hands 
were  lying  in  her  lap,  and  he  slipped  the  fan 
into  one  of  them,  letting  his  own  rest  for  a  per- 
ceptible instant  in  the  warm  palm  of  the  other. 
There  ensued  a  tumultuous  silence.  He  had  only 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  2O/ 

underscored  a  glance  of  hers ;  yet  it  seemed  that 
he  had  created  something — something  as  formi- 
dable as  lovely,  a  embarrassing  as  divine.  As  he 
gently  withdrew  his  hand  she  lifted  her  eyes  to 
his  with  mute  entreaty,  and  he  saw  that  they 
were  full  of  tears.  He  told  himself  "afterwards 
that  he  had  been  profoundly  moved ;  but  this 
did  not  interfere  with  his  realisation  that  it  was 
an  exquisite  moment. 

Ancram  regarded  her  gravely,  with  a  smile 
of  much  consideration.  He  gave  her  a  moment 
of  time,  and  then,  as  she  did  not  look  up  again, 
he  leaned  forward,  and  said,  quite  naturally  and 
evenly,  as  if  the  proposition  were  entirely  legiti- 
mate :  "  The  relation  between  us  is  too  tacit. 
Tell  me  that  you  love  me,  dear." 

For  an  instant  he  repented,  since  it  seemed 
that  she  would  be  carried  along  on  the  sweet 
tide  of  his  words  to  the  brink  of  an  indiscretion. 
Once  more  she  looked  up,  softly  seeking  his 
eyes ;  and  in  hers  he  saw  so  lovely  a  light 
of  self-surrender  that  he  involuntarily  thanked 
Heaven  that  there  was  no  one  else  to  recognise 
it.  In  her  face  was  nothing  but  the  thought  of 


208  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

him ;  and,  seeing  this,  he  had  a  swift  desire  to 
take  her  in  his  arms  and  experience  at  its  fullest 
and  sweetest  the  sense  that  she  and  her  little 
empire  were  gladly  lost  there.  In  the  pause  of 
her  mute  confession  he  felt  the  strongest  exulta- 
tion he  had  known.  Her  glance  reached  him 
like  a  cry  from  an  unexplored  country ;  the 
revelation  of  her  love  filled  him  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  was  infinitely  more  adorable  and 
more  desirable  than  he  had  thought  her.  From 
that  moment  she  realised  to  him  a  supreme 
good,  and  he  never  afterwards  thought  of  his 
other  ambitions  without  a  smile  of  contempt 
which  was  almost  genuine.  But  she  said  noth- 
ing :  she  seemed  removed  from  any  necessity  of 
speech,  lifted  up  on  a  wave  of  absolute  joy,  and 
isolated  from  all  that  lay  either  behind  or  before. 
He  controlled  his  impatience  for  words  from 
her — for  he  was  very  sure  of  one  thing;  that 
when  they  came  they  would  be  kind — and  chose 
his  own  with  taste. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  it  would  be  better  if 
we  had  the  courage  and  the  candour  to  accept 
things  as  they  are  ?  Don't  you  think  we  would 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  2OQ 

be  stronger  for  all  that  we  must  face  if  we  ac- 
knowledged— only  to  each  other — the  pain  and 
the  sweetness  of  it?  " 

"  I  have  never   been    blind/'  she  said    softly. 

"  All  I  ask  is  that  you  will  not  even  pretend 
to  be.  Is  that  too  much?" 

"  How  can  it  be  a  question  of  that  ?  "  Her 
voice  trembled  a  little.  Then  she  hurried  illog- 
ically  on :  "  But  there  can  be  no  change — there 
must  be  no  change.  These  are  things  I  hoped 
you  would  never  say." 

"  The  alternative  is  too  wretched  :  to  go  on 
living  a  lie  —  and  a  stupid,  unnecessary  lie. 
Why,  in  Heaven's  name,  should  there  be  the 
figment  of  hypocrisy  between  us  ?  I  know  that 
I  must  be  content  with  very  little,  but  I  am 
afraid  there  is  no  way  of  telling  you  how  much 
I  want  that  little." 

She  had  grown  very  pale,  and  she  put  up 
her  hand  and  smoothed  her  hair  with  a  helpless, 
mechanical  gesture. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said — "  stop.  Let  us  make 
an  end  of  it  quickly.  I  was  very  well  con- 
tent to  go  on  with  the  lie.  I  think  I  should 


210  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

always  have  been  content.  But  now  there 
is  no  lie  :  there  is  nothing  to  stand  upon  any 
longer.  You  must  get  leave,  or  something, 
and  go  away — or  I  will.  I  am  not — really- 
very  well." 

She  looked  at  him  miserably,  with  twitching 
lips,  and  he  laid  a  soothing  hand — there  was  still 
no  one  to  see — upon  her  arm. 

"  Judith,  don't  talk  of  impossibilities.  How 
could  we  two  live  in  one  world — and  apart ! 
Those  are  the  heroics  of  a  dear  little  schoolgirl. 
You  and  I  are  older,  and  braver." 

She  put  his  hand  away  with  a  touch  that  was 
a  caress,  but  only  said  irrelevantly,  "  And  Rhoda 
Daye  might  have  loved  you  honestly  !  " 

"  Ah,  that  threadbare  old  story  !  "  He  felt  as 
if  she  had  struck  him,  and  the  feeling  impelled 
him  to  ask  her  why  she  thought  he  deserved 
punishment.  "  Not  that  it  hurts,"  Mr.  Ancram 
added,  almost  resentfully. 

She  gave  him  a  look  of  vague  surprise,  and 
then  lapsed,  refusing  to  make  the  effort  to  un- 
derstand, into  the  troubled  depths  of  her  own 
thought. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  2II 

"  Be  a  little  kind,  Judith.  I  only  want  a 
word." 

The  south  wind  brought  them  a  sound  out  of 
the  darkness — the  high,  faint,  long-drawn  sound 
of  a  cheer  from  the  Maidan.  She  lifted  her  head 
and  listened  intently,  with  apprehensive  eyes. 
Then  she  rose  unsteadily  from  her  seat,  and,  as 
he  gave  her  his  arm  in  silence,  she  stood  for  a 
moment  gathering  up  her  strength,  and  waiting, 
it  seemed,  for  the  sound  to  come  again.  Noth- 
ing reached  them  but  the  wilder,  nearer  wail  of 
the  jackals  in  the  streets. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that 
was  quite  steady  ;  "  I  must  find  my  husband 
and  go  home." 

He  would  have  held  her  back,  but  she  walked 
resolutely,  if  somewhat  purposelessly,  round  the 
long  curve  of  the  verandah,  and  stood  still,  look- 
ing at  the  light  that  streamed  out  of  the  ball- 
room and  glistened  on  the  leaves  of  a  range  of 
palms  and  crotons  in  pots  that  made  a  seclusion 
there. 

"  Then,"  said  Ancram,  "  I  am  to  go  on  with 
the  forlorn  comfort  of  a  guess.  I  ought  to  be 


212  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

thankful,  I  suppose,  that  you  can't  take  that  from 
me.  Perhaps  you  would,"  he  added  bitterly,  "  if 
you  could  know  how  precious  it  is." 

His  words  seemed  to  fix  her  in  a  half-formed 
resolve.  Her  hand  slipped  out  of  his  arm,  and 
she  took  a  step  away  from  him  toward  the  cro- 
tons.  Against  their  dark  green  leaves  he  saw, 
with  some  alarm,  how  white  her  face  was. 

"  Listen,"  she  said  :  "  I  think  you  do  not 
realise  it,  but  I  know  you  are  hard  and  cruel. 
You  ask  me  if  I  am  not  to  you  what  I  ought 
to  be  to  my  husband,  who  is  a  good  man,  and 
who  loves  me,  and  trusts  you.  And,  what  is 
worse,  this  has  come  up  between  us  at  a  time 
when  he  is  threatened  and  troubled :  on  the 
very  night  when  I  meant — when  I  meant  " — she 
stopped  to  conquer  the  sob  in  her  throat — "  to 
have  asked  you  to  think  of  something  that  might 
be  done  to  help  him.  Well,  but  you  ask  me  if 
I  have  come  to  love  you,  and  perhaps  in  a  way 
you  have  a  right  to  know  ;  and  the  truth  is  bet- 
ter, as  you  say.  And  I  answer  you  that  I  have. 
I  answer  you  yes,  it  is  true,  and  I  know  it  will 
always  be  true.  But  from  to-night  you  will  re- 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A  LADY.  213 

member  that  every  time  I  look  into  your  face 
and  touch  your  hand  I  hurt  my  own  honour 
and  my  husband's,  and — and  you  will  not  let 
me  see  you  often." 

As  Ancram  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  the 
cheer  from  the  Maidan  smote  the  air  again, 
and  this  time  it  seemed  nearer.  Judith  took 
his  arm  nervously. 

"  What  can  they  be  doing  out  there  ?  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  Let  us  go — I  must  find  my  hus- 
band— let  us  go  !  " 

They  crossed  the  threshold  into  the  ball- 
room, where  John  Church  joined  them  almost 
immediately,  his  black  brows  lightened  by  an 
unusually  cheerful  expression. 

"  I've  been  having  a  long  talk  with  His  Ex- 
cellency," he  said  to  them  jointly.  "  An  uncom- 
monly capable  fellow,  Scansleigh.  He  tells  me 
he  has  written  a  strong  private  letter  to  the 
Secretary  of  State  about  this  Notification  of 
mine.  That's  bound  to  have  weight,  you  know, 
in  case  they  make  an  attempt  to  get  hold  of 
Parliament  at  home." 

As  Mrs.  Church  and  Mr.  Lewis  Ancram  left 


214  HIS   HONOUR.  AND   A   LADY. 

the  verandah  a  chair  was  suddenly  pushed  back 
behind  the  crotons.  Miss  Rhoda  Daye  had  been 
sitting  in  the  chair,  alone  too,  with  the  south 
wind  and  the  stars.  She  had  no  warning  of 
what  she  was  about  to  overhear — no  sound  had 
reached  her,  either  of  their  talk  or  their  ap- 
proach— and  in  a  somewhat  agitated  colloquy 
with  herself  she  decided  that  nothing  could  be 
so  terrible  as  her  personal  interruption  of  what 
Mrs.  Church  was  saying.  That  lady's  words, 
though  low  and  rapid,  were  very  distinct,  and 
Rhoda  heard  them  out  involuntarily,  with  a 
strong  disposition  to  applaud  her  and  to  love 
her.  Then  she  turned  a  key  upon  her  emo- 
tions and  Judith  Church's  secret,  and  slipped 
quietly  out  to  look  for  her  mother,  who  asked 
her,  between  her  acceptance  of  an  ice  from  the 
Home  Secretary  and  a  petit  four  from  the  Gen- 
eral Commanding  the  Division,  why  on  earth  she 
looked  so  depressed. 

Ancram,  turning  away  from  the  Churches, 
almost  ran  into  the  arms  of  Mohendra  Lai 
Chuckerbutty,  with'  whom  he  shook  hands. 
His  manner  expressed,  combined  with  all  the 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  215 

good  will  in  the  world,  a  slight  embarrass- 
ment that  he  could  not  remember  Mohendra's 
name,  which  is  so  often  to  be  noticed  when 
European  officials  have  occasion  to  greet  natives 
of  distinction — natives  of  distinction  are  so  very 
numerous  and  so  very  similar. 

"  I  hope  you  are  well !  "  beamed  the  editor  of 
the  Bengal  Free  Press.  "  It  is  a  very  select 
party."  Then  Mohendra  dropped  his  voice 
confidentially  :  "  We  have  sent  to  England,  by 
to-day's  mail,  every  word  of  the  isspeech  of 
Dr.  Maclnnes " 

"  Damn  you  !  "  Ancram  said,  with  a  re- 
spectful, considering  air :  "  what  do  I  know 
about  the  speech  of  Dr.  Maclnnes  !  Jehannum 
jao  !  "  * 

Mohendra  laughed  in  happy  acquiescence  as 
the  Chief  Secretary  bowed  and  left  him.  "  Cer- 
tainlie  !  certainlie  !  "  he  said  ;  "  it  is  a  very  select 
party  !  " 

The  evening  had  one  more  incident.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Church  made  their  retreat  early:  Judith's 

*  "  Go  to  Hades  ! " 


2i6  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

face  offered  an  excuse  of  fatigue  which  was  bet- 
ter than  her  words.  Their  carriage  turned  out 
of  Circular  Road  with  a  thickening  crowd  of 
natives  talking  noisily  and  walking  in  the  same 
direction.  They  caught  up  with  a  glare  and  the 
smell  and  smoke  of  burning  pitch.  Judith  said 
uneasily  that  there  seemed  to  be  a  bonfire  in  the 
middle  of  the  road.  They  drew  a  little  nearer, 
and  the  crowd  massed  around  them  before  and 
behind,  on  the  bridge  leading  to  Belvedere  out 
of  the  city.  Then  John  Church  perceived  that 
the  light  streamed  from  a  burning  figure  which 
flamed  and  danced  grotesquely,  wired  to  a  pole 
attached  to  a  bullock  cart  and  pulled  along  by 
coolies.  The  absorbed  crowd  that  walked 
behind,  watching  and  enjoying  like  excited 
children  at  a  show,  chattered  defective  Eng- 
lish, and  the  light  from  the  burning  thing 
on  the  pole  streamed  upon  faces  already 
to  some  extent  illumined  by  the  higher  cul- 
ture of  the  University  Colleges.  But  it  was 
not  until  they  recognised  his  carriage  and 
outriders,  and  tried  to  hurry  and  to  scatter 
on  the  narrow  bridge,  that  the  Acting  Lieu- 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  2I/ 

tenant-Governor  of  Bengal  fully  realised  that 
he  had  been  for  some  distance  swelling  a 
procession  which  was  entertaining  itself  with 
much  gusto  at  the  expense  of  his  own  ef- 
figy- 


CHAPTER  XV. 

WHEN  it  became  obvious  that  the  College 
Grants  Notification  held  fateful  possibilities  for 
John  Church  personally,  and  for  his  wife  inci- 
dentally, it  rapidly  developed  into  a  topic.  La- 
dies, in  the  course  of  midday  visits  in  each 
other's  cool  drawing-rooms,  repeated  things  their 
husbands  had  let  fall  at  dinner  the  night  before, 
and  said  they  were  awfully  sorry  for  Mrs. 
Church  ;  it  must  be  too  trying  for  her,  poor 
thing.  If  it  were  only  on  her  account,  some  of 
them  thought,  the  Lieutenant-Governor — the 
"  L.G.,"  they  called  him — ought  to  let  things  go 
on  as  they  always  had.  What  difference  did  it 
make  anyway !  At  the  clubs  the  matter  super- 
seded,  for  the  moment,  the  case  of  an  army 
chaplain  accused  of  improper  conduct  at  Singa- 
pore, and  bets  were  freely  laid  on  the  issue — 
three  to  one  that  Church  would  be  "smashed." 

218 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  219 

If  this  attitude  seemed  less  sympathetic  than 
that  of  the  ladies,  it  betokened  at  least  no  hos- 
tility. On  the  contrary,  no  small  degree  of  ap- 
preciation was  current  for  His  Honour.  He 
would  not  have  heard  the  matter  discussed  often 
from  his  own  point  of  view,  but  that  was  because 
his  own  point  of  view  was  very  much  his  own 
property.  He  might  have  heard  himself  com- 
mended from  a  good  many  others,  however,  and 
especially  on  the  ground  of  his  pluck.  Men  said 
between  their  cigars  that  very  few  fellows  would 
care  to  put  their  hands  to  such  a  piece  of  zubber- 
dusti*  at  this  end  of  the  century,  however  much 
it  was  wanted.  Personally  they  hoped  the  beg- 
gar would  get  it  through,  and  with  equal  solici- 
tude they  proceeded  to  bet  that  he  wouldn't. 
Among  the  sentiments  the  beggar  evoked,  per- 
haps the  liveliest  was  one  of  gratitude  for  so 
undeniable  a  sensation  so  near  the  end  of  the 
cold  weather,  when  sensations  were  apt  to  take 
flight,  with  other  agreeable  things,  to  the  hill 
stations. 


*  "  High-handed  proceeding." 
15 


220  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

The  storm  reached  a  point  when  the  Bishop 
felt  compelled  to  put  forth  an  allaying  hand  from 
the  pulpit  of  the  Cathedral.  As  the  head  of  the 
Indian  Establishment  the  Bishop  felt  himself 
allied  in  no  common  way  with  the  governing 
power,  and  His  Lordship  was  known  to  hold 
strong  views  on  the  propriety  with  which  lawn 
sleeves  might  wave  above  questions  of  public 
importance.  Besides,  neither  Dr.  Maclnnes  nor 
Professor  Porter  were  lecturing  on  the  binomial 
theorem  under  Established  guidance,  while  as  to 
Father  Ambrose,  he  positively  invited  criticism, 
with  his  lives  of  the  Saints.  When,  therefore, 
the  Cathedral  congregation  heard  his  Lordship 
begin  his  sermon  with  the  sonorous  announce- 
ment from  Ecclesiastes, 

"  For  in  much  wisdom  is  much  grief :  and  he  that 
increaseth  knowledge  increaseth  sorro^v.  He — 
that  increaseth — knowledge — increaseth — sorrow" 

it  listened,  with  awakened  interest,  for  a  snub  to 
Dr.  Maclnnes  and  Professor  Porter,  and  for  a 
rebuke,  full  of  dignity  and  austerity,  to  Father 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  22I 

Ambrose ;  both  of  which  were  duly  adminis- 
tered. His  Lordship's  views,  supported  by  the 
original  Preacher,  were  doubtless  more  valuable 
in  his  sermon  than  they  would  be  here,  but  it 
is  due  to  him  to  say  that  they  formed  the  hap- 
piest combination  of  fealty  and  doctrine.  The 
Honourable  Mr.  Ancram  said  to  Sir  William 
Scott  on  the  Cathedral  steps  after  the  service — 
it  was  like  the  exit  of  a  London  theatre,  with 
people  waiting  for  their  carriages — that  while 
his  Lordship's  reference  was  very  proper  and 
could  hardly  fail  to  be  of  use,  public  matters 
looked  serious  when  they  came  to  be  discussed 
in  the  pulpit.  To  which  Sir  William  gave  a 
deprecating  agreement. 

Returning  to  his  somewhat  oppressively 
lonely  quarters,  Ancram  felt  the  need  of  further 
conversation.  The  Bishop  had  stirred  him  to 
vigorous  dissent,  which  his  Lordship's  advantage 
of  situation  made  peculiarly  irritating  to  so 
skilled  an  observer  of  weak  points.  He  be- 
thought himself  that  he  might  write  to  Philip 
Doyle.  He  remembered  that  Doyle  had  not 
answered  the  letter  in  which  he  had  written  of 


222  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

his  changed  domestic  future,  frankly  asking  for 
congratulation  rather  than  for  condolence  ;  but 
without  resentment,  for  why  should  a  man  trou- 
ble himself  under  Florentine  skies  with  unneces- 
sary Calcutta  correspondents?  He  consulted 
only  his  own  pleasure  in  writing  again :  Doyle 
was  so  readily  appreciative,  he  would  see  the 
humour  in  the  development  of  affairs  with  His 
Honour.  It  was  almost  a  week  since  Mr.  An- 
cram  had  observed  at  the  ball,  with  acute  annoy- 
ance, what  an  unreasonable  effect  the  matter  was 
having  upon  Judith  Church,  and  he  was  again 
himself  able  to  see  the  humour  of  it.  He  finally 
wrote  with  much  facility  a  graphically  descrip- 
tive letter,  in  which  the  Bishop  came  in  as  a 
mere  picturesque  detail  at  the  end.  He  seemed 
to  pick  his  way,  as  he  turned  the  pages,  out  of 
an  embarrassing  moral  quagmire ;  he  was  so 
obviously  high  and  dry  when  he  could  fix  the 
whole  thing  in  a  caricature  of  effective  para- 
graphs. He  wrote : — 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you  privately  that  I  have 
no  respect  whatever  for  the  scheme,  and  very  little 
for  the  author  of  it.  He  reminds  one  of  nothing  so 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  223 

much  as  an  elderly  hen  sitting,  with  the  obstinacy  of 
her  kind,  on  eggs  out  of  which  it  is  easy  to  see  no 
addled  reform  will  ever  step  to  crow.  He  is  as  blind 
as  a  bat  to  his  own  deficiencies.  I  doubt  whether 
even  his  downfall  will  convince  him  that  his  proper 
sphere  of  usefulness  in  life  was  that  of  a  Radical 
cobbler.  He  has  a  noble  preference  for  the  ideal  of 
an  impeccable  Indian  administrator,  which  he  goes 
about  contemplating,  while  his  beard  grows  with  the 
tale  of  his  blunders.  The  end,  however,  cannot  be 
far  off.  Bengal  is  howling  for  his  retirement ;  and, 
notwithstanding  a  fulsome  habit  he  has  recently 
developed  of  hanging  upon  my  neck  for  sympathy,  I 
own  to  you  that,  if  circumstances  permitted,  I  would 
howl  too." 

Ancram's  first  letter  had  miscarried,  a  peon  in 
the  service  of  the  Sirkar  having  abstracted  the 
stamps  ;  and  Philip  Doyle,  when  he  received  the 
second,  was  for  the  moment  overwhelmed  with 
inferences  from  his  correspondent's  silence  re- 
garding the  marriage,  which  should  have  been 
imminent  when  he  wrote.  Doyle  glanced 
rapidly  through  another  Calcutta  letter  that  ar- 
rived with  Ancram's  for  possible  news;  but  the 
brief  sensation  of  Miss  Daye's  broken  engagement 
had  expired  long  before  it  was  written,  and  it 


224  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A    LADY. 

contained  no  reference  to  the  affair.  The  theory 
of  a  postponement  suggested  itself  irresistibly  ; 
and  he  spent  an  absorbed  and  motionless  twenty 
minutes,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  while  his 
pipe  went  out  in  his  hand,  looking  fixedly  at  the 
floor  of  his  room  in  the  hotel,  and  engaged  in 
constructing  the  tissue  of  circumstances  which 
would  make  such  a  thing  likely.  If  he  did  not 
grow  consciously  lighter-hearted  with  this  occu- 
pation, at  least  he  turned,  at  the  end  of  it,  to  re- 
peruse  his  letters,  as  if  they  had  brought  him 
good  news.  He  read  them  both  carefully  again, 
and  opened  the  newspaper  that  came  with  the 
second.  It  was  a  copy  of  the  Bengal  Free  Press, 
and  his  friend  of  the  High  Court  had  called  his 
special  attention  to  its  leading  article,  as  the  most 
caustic  and  effective  attack  upon  the  College 
Grants  Notification  which  had  yet  appeared. 
Mr.  Justice  Shears  wrote  : — 

"As  you  will  see,  there  is  abundant  intrinsic  evi- 
dence that  no  native  wrote  it.  My  own  idea,  which 
I  share  with  a  good  many  people,  is  that  it  came  from 
the  pen  of  the  Director  of  Education,  which  is  as  facile 
as  it  would  very  naturally  be  hostile.  Let  me  know 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  22$ 

what  you  think.  Ancram  is  non-committal,  but  he 
talks  of  Government's  prosecuting  the  paper,  which 
looks  as  if  the  article  had  already  done  harm." 

Doyle  went  through  the  editorial  with  in- 
terest that  increased  as  his  eye  travelled  down 
the  column.  He  smiled  as  he  read  ;  it  was  cer- 
tainly a  telling  and  a  forcible  presentation  of  the 
case  against  His  Honour's  policy,  adorned  with 
gibes  that  were  more  damaging  than  its  argu- 
ment. Suddenly  he  stopped,  with  a  puzzled 
look,  and  read  the  last  part  of  a  sentence  once 
again : — 

"But  he  has  a  noble  preference  for  the  ideal  of  an 
impeccable  Indian  administrator,  which  he  goes 
about  contemplating,  while  his  beard  grows  with  the 
tale  of  his  blunders." 

The  light  of  a  sudden  revelation  twinkled  in 
Doyle's  eyes — a  revelation  which  showed  the 
Chief  Secretary  to  the  Bengal  Government  led 
on  by  vanity  to  forgetfulness.  He  reopened 
Ancram's  letter,  and  convinced  himself  that  the 
words  were  precisely  those  he  had  read  there. 
For  further  assurance,  he  glanced  at  the  dates  of 


226  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

the  letter  and  the  newspaper :  the  one  had  been 
written  two  days  before  the  other  had  been 
printed.  Presently  he  put  them  down,  and  in- 
stinctively rubbed  his  thumb  and  the  ends  of  his 
fingers  together  with  the  light,  rapid  movement 
with  which  people  assure  themselves  that  they 
have  touched  nothing  soiling.  He  permitted 
himself  no  characterisation  of  the  incident — lofty 
denunciation  was  not  part  of  Doyle's  habit 
of  mind — beyond  what  might  have  been  ex- 
pressed in  the  somewhat  disgusted  smile  with 
which  he  re-lighted  his  pipe.  It  was  like  him 
that  his  principal  reflection  had  a  personal  tinge, 
and  that  it  was  forcible  enough  to  find  words. 
"  And  I,"  he  said,  with  a  twinkle  at  his  own  ex- 
pense, "  lived  nine  months  in  the  same  house  with 
that  skunk ! " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

EVERY  day  at  ten  o'clock  the  south  wind 
came  hotter  and  stronger  up  from  the  sea.  The 
sissoo  trees  on  the  Maidan  trembled  into  delicate 
flower,  and  their  faint,  fresh  fragrance  stood 
like  a  spell  about  them.  The  teak  pushed  out  its 
awkward  rags,  tawdry  and  foolish,  but  divinely 
green ;  and  here  and  there  a  tamarind  by  the 
roadside  lifted  its  gracious  head,  like  a  dream- 
tree  in  a  billow  of  misty  leaf.  The  days  grew 
long  and  lovely ;  the  coolies  going  home  at  sun- 
set across  the  burnt  grass  of  the  Maidan  joined 
hands  and  sang,  with  marigolds  round  their 
necks.  The  white-faced  aliens  of  Calcutta 
walked  there  too,  but  silently,  for  "exercise." 
The  crows  grew  noisier  than  ever,  for  it  was 
young  crow  time  ;  the  fever-bird  came  and  told 
people  to  put  up  their  punkahs.  The  Viceroy 
and  all  that  were  officially  his  departed  to  Simla, 

227 


228  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

and  great  houses  in  Chowringhee  were  to  let. 
It  was  announced  rather  earlier  than  usual  that 
His  Honour  the  Lieutenant-Governor  would  go 
"  on  tour,"  which  had  no  reference  to  Southern 
Europe,  but  meant  inspection  duty  in  remote 
parts  of  the  province.  Mrs.  Church  would  ac- 
company the  Lieutenant-Governor.  The  local 
papers,  in  making  this  known,  said  it  was  hoped 
that  the  change  of  air  would  completely  restore 
"  one  of  Calcutta's  most  brilliant  and  popular 
hostesses,"  whose  health  for  the  past  fortnight 
had  been  regrettably  unsatisfactory. 

The  Dayes  went  to  Darjiling,  and  Dr. 
Maclnnes  to  England.  Dr.  Maclnnes'  expenses 
to  England,  and  those  of  Shib  Chunder  Bhose, 
who  accompanied  him,  were  met  out  of  a  fund 
which  had  swelled  astonishingly  considering  that 
it  was  fed  by  Bengali  sentiment — the  fund  es- 
tablished to  defeat  the  College  Grants  Notifica- 
tion. Dr.  Maclnnes  went  home,  as  one  of  the 
noble  band  of  Indian  missionaries,  to  speak  to  the 
people  of  England,  and  to  explain  to  them  how 
curiously  the  administrative  mind  in  India  be- 
came perverted  in  its  conceptions  of  the  mother 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  229 

country's  duty  to  the  heathen  masses  who  look  to 
her  for  light  and  guidance.  Dr.  Maclnnes  was 
prepared  to  say  that  the  cause  of  Christian  mis- 
sions in  India  had  been  put  back  fifty  years  by 
the  ill-judged  act,  so  fearful  in  its  ultimate  con- 
sequences, of  the  Lieutenant-Governor  of  Bengal. 
Since  that  high  official  could  not  be  brought  to 
consider  his  responsibility  to  his  Maker,  he 
should  be  brought  to  consider  his  responsibility 
to  the  people  of  England.  Dr.  Maclnnes  doubt- 
less did  not  intend  to  imply  that  the  latter 
tribunal  was  the  higher  of  the  two,  but  he  cer- 
tainly produced  the  impression  that  it  was  the 
more  effective. 

Shib  Chunder  Bhose,  in  fluent  and  deferential 
language,  heightened  this  impression,  which  did 
no  harm  to  the  cause.  Shib  Chunder  Bhose  had 
been  found  willing,  in  consideration  of  a  second- 
class  passage,  to  accompany  Dr.  Maclnnes  in  the 
character  of  a  University  graduate  who  was  also 
a  Christian  convert.  Shib  Chunder's  father  had 
married  a  Mohamedan  woman,  and  so  lost  his 
caste,  whereafter  he  embraced  Christianity  be- 
cause Father  Ambrose's  predecessor  had  given 


230  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

him  four  annas  every  time  he  came  to  catechism. 
Shib  Chunder  inherited  the  paternal  religion, 
with  contumely  added  on  the  score  of  his  moth- 
er, and,  since  he  could  make  no''  other  pretension, 
figured  in  the  College  register  as  Christian.  A 
young  man  anxious  to  keep  pace  with  the  times, 
he  had  been  a  Buddhist  since,  and  afterwards 
professed  his  faith  in  the  tenets  of  Theosophy ; 
but  whenever  he  fell  ill  or  lost  money  he  returned 
irresistibly  to  the  procedure  of  his  youth,  and 
offered  rice  and  marigolds  to  the  Virgin  Mary. 
Dr.  Maclnnes  therefore  certainly  had  the  facts 
on  his  side  when  he  affectionately  referred  to 
his  young  friend  as  living  testimony  to  the  work 
of  educational  missions  in  India,  living  proof 
of  the  falsity  of  the  charge  that  the  majority 
of  mission  colleges  were  mere  secular  institu- 
tions. As  his  young  friend  wore  a  frock-coat 
and  a  humble  smile,  and  was  able  on  occasion 
to  weep  like  anything,  the  effect  in  the  provinces 
was  tremendous. 

Dr.  Maclnnes  gave  himself  to  the  work  with 
a  zeal  which  entirely  merited  the  commendation 
he  received  from  his  conscience.  Sometimes  he 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  231 

lectured  twice  a  day.  He  was  always  freely 
accessible  to  interviewers  from  the  religious 
press.  He  refrained,  in  talking  to  these  gentle- 
men, from  all  personal  malediction  of  the  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor — it  was  the  sin  he  had  to  do 
with,  not  the  distinguished  sinner — and  thereby 
gained  a  widespread  reputation  for  unprejudiced 
views.  Portraits  of  the  reverend  crusader  and 
Shib  Chunder  Bhose  appeared  on  the  posters 
which  announced  Dr.  Maclnnes'  subject  in  large 
letters — "  MISSIONS  AND  MAMMON.  SHALL  A 
LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR  ROB  GOD  ?  " — and  in 
all  the  illustrated  papers.  The  matter  arrived 
regularly  with  the  joint  at  Hammersmith  Sun- 
day dinner-tables.  Finally  the  Times  gave  it 
almost  a  parochial  importance,  and  solemnly,  in 
two  columns,  with  due  respect  for  constituted 
authority,  came  to  no  conclusion  at  all  from 
every  point  of  view. 

The  inevitable  question  was  early  asked  in 
Parliament,  and  the  Under-Secretary  of  State 
said  he  would  "  inquire."  Further  questions 
were  asked  on  different  and  increasingly  urgent 
grounds,  with  the  object  of  reminding  and 


232  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

hastening  the  Secretary  of  State.  A  popular 
Nonconformist  preacher  told  two  thousand  peo- 
ple in  Exeter  Hall  that  they  and  he  could  no 
longer  conscientiously  vote  to  keep  a  Govern- 
ment in  office  that  would  hesitate  to  demand  the 
instant  resignation  of  an  official  who  had  brought 
such  shame  upon  the  name  of  England.  Shortly 
afterwards  one  hon.  member  made  a  departure 
in  his  attack  upon  Mr.  John  Church,  which  com- 
pletely held  the  attention  of  the  House  while  it 
lasted.  The  effect  was  unusual,  to  be  achieved 
by  this  particular  hon.  member,  and  he  did  it  by 
reading  aloud  the  whole  of  an  extremely  graphic 
and  able  article  criticising  His  Honour's  policy 
from  the  Bengal  Free  Press, 

"  I  put  it  to  hon.  members,"  said  he,  weightily, 
in  conclusion,  "  whether  any  one  of  us,  in  our 
boasted  superiority  of  intellect,  has  the  right  to 
say  that  people  who  can  thus  express  themselves 
do  not  know  what  they  want !  " 

That  evening,  before  he  went  to  bed,  Lord 
Strathell,  Secretary  of  State  for  India,  in  Eaton 
Square,  London,  wrote  a  note  to  Lord  Scans- 
leigh,  Viceroy  and  Governor-General  of  India, 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  233 

in  Viceregal  Lodge,  Simla.  The  note  was 
written  on  Lady  Strathell's  letter-paper,  which 
was  delicately  scented  and  bore  a  monogram  and 
coronet.  It  was  a  very  private  and  friendly 
note,  and  it  ran  : — 

"  DEAR  SCANSLEIGH  :  I  needn't  tell  you  how  much 
I  regret  the  necessity  of  my  accompanying  official 
letter  asking  you  to  arrange  Church's  retirement.  I 
can  quite  understand  that  it  will  be  most  distasteful 
to  you,  as  I  know  you  have  a  high  opinion  of  him, 
both  personally  and  as  an  administrator.  But  the 
Missionary  Societies,  etc.,  have  got  us  into  the 
tightest  possible  place  over  his  educational  policy. 
Already  several  Nonconformist  altars — if  there  are 
such  things — are  crying  out  for  the  libation  of  our 
blood.  Somebody  must  be  offered  up.  I  had  a  Com- 
mission suggested,  and  it  was  received  with  rage  and 
scorn.  Nothing  will  do  but  Church's  removal  from 
his  present  office — and  the  sooner  the  better.  I  sup- 
pose we  must  find  something  else  for  him. 

"Again  assuring  you  of  my  personal  regret,  be- 
lieve me,  dear  Scansleigh,  yours  cordially, 

"SXRATHELL. 

"  P.S.— Thus  Party  doth  make  Pilates  of  us  all." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IT  was  the  first  time  in  history  that  the  town 
of  Bhugsi  had  been  visited  by  a  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor.  Bhugsi  was  small,  but  it  had  a  reputation 
for  malodorousness  not  to  be  surpassed  by  any 
municipality  of  Eastern  Bengal.  Though  Bhugsi 
was  small  it  was  full — full  of  men  and  children 
and  crones  and  monkeys,  and  dwarfed,  lean- 
ribbed  cattle,  and  vultures  of  the  vilest  appetite. 
The  town  squatted  round  a  tank,  very  old,  very 
slimy,  very  sacred.  Bhugsi  bathed  in  the  tank 
and  so  secured  eternal  happiness,  drank  from  the 
tank  and  so  secured  it  quickly.  All  such  abom- 
inations as  are  unnameable  Bhugsi  also  pre- 
ferred to  commit  in  the  vicinity  of  the  tank, 
and  it  was  possibly  for  this  reason  that  the 
highest  death-rate  of  the  last  "  year  under  re- 
port "  had  been  humbly  submitted  by  Bhugsi. 

Noting  this  achievement,  John  Church  added 

234 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  235 

Bhugsi  to  his  inspection  list.  The  inspection  list 
was  already  sufficiently  long  for  the  time  at  his 
disposal,  but  Church  had  a  way  of  economising 
his  time  that  contributed  much  to  the  discipline 
of  provincial  Bengal.  He  accomplished  this  by 
train  and  boat  and  saddle  ;  and  his  staff,  with 
deep  inward  objurgations,  did  its  best  to  keep 
up.  He  pressed  upon  Judith  the  advisability  of 
a  more  leisurely  progress  by  easier  routes,  with 
occasional  meeting-places,  but  found  her  quietly 
obstinate  in  her  determination  to  come  with  him. 
She  declared  herself  the  better  for  the  constant 
change  and  the  stimulus  of  quick  moves ;  and 
this  he  could  believe,  for  whenever  they  made  a 
stay  of  more  than  forty-eight  hours  anywhere  it 
was  always  she  who  was  most  feverishly  anx- 
ious to  depart.  She  filled  her  waking  moments 
and  dulled  her  pain  in  the  natural  way,  with 
actual  physical  exertion.  While  the  servants 
looked  on  in  consternation  she  toiled  instinc- 
tively over  packings  and  unpackings,  and  was 
glad  of  the  weariness  they  brought  her.  She 
invented  little  new  devotions  to  her  husband — 
these  also  soothed  her — and  became  freshly  so- 

16 


236  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

licitous  about  his  health,  freshly  thoughtful  about 
his  comfort.  Observing  which,  Church  reflected 
tenderly  on  the  unselfishness  of  women,  and  said 
to  his  wife  that  he  could  not  have  her  throwing 
herself,  this  way,  before  the  Juggernaut  of  his 
official  progress. 

There  were  no  Europeans  at  all  at  Bhugsi, 
so  the  Lieutenant-Governor's  party  put  up  at  the 
dak-bungalow,  three  miles  outside  the  town. 
Peter  Robertson,  the  Commissioner  of  the  Di- 
vision, and  the  district  officer,  who  were  in  at- 
tendance upon  His  Honour,  were  in  camp  near 
by,  as  their  custom  is.  The  dak-bungalow  had 
only  three  rooms,  and  this  made  the  fact  that 
two  of  His  Honour's  suite  had  been  left  at  the 
last  station  with  fever  less  of  a  misfortune.  By 
this  time,  indeed,  the  suite  consisted  of  Judith 
and  the  private  secretary  and  the  servants  ;  but 
as  John  Church  said,  getting  into  his  saddle  at 
six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  there  were  quite 
enough  of  them  to  terrify  Bhugsi  into  certain 
reforms. 

He  spent  three  hours  inspecting  the  work  ot 
the  native  magistrate,  and  came  back  to  break- 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  237 

fast  with  his  brows  well  set  together  over  that 
official's  amiable  tolerance  of  a  popular  way  of 
procuring  confessions  among  the  police,  which 
was  by  means  of  needles  and  the  supposed  crim- 
inal's finger-nails.  It  had  been  practised  in  Bhug- 
si,  as  the  native  magistrate  represented,  for  thou- 
sands of  years,  but  it  made  John  Church  angry. 
He  ate  with  stern  eyes  upon  the  table-cloth,  and 
when  the  meal  was  over  rode  back  to  Bhugsi. 
There  was  only  that  one  day,  and  beside  the  all- 
important  matter  of  the  sanitation  he  had  to 
look  at  the  schools,  to  inspect  the  gaol,  to  re- 
ceive an  address  and  to  make  a  speech.  He 
reflected  on  the  terms  of  the  speech  as  he 
rode,  improving  upon  their  salutary  effect.  He 
said  to  his  private  secretary,  cantering  alongside, 
that  he  had  never  known  it  so  hot  in  April — the 
air  was  like  a  whip.  It  was  borne  in  upon  him 
once  that  if  he  could  put  down  the  burden  of 
his  work  and  of  his  dignity  and  stretch  himself 
out  to  sleep  beside  the  naked  coolies  who  lay  on 
their  faces  in  the  shadow  of  the  pipal  trees  by 
the  roadside,  it  would  be  a  pleasant  thing,  but 
this  he  did  not  say  to  his  private  secretary. 


238  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

It  was  half-past  five,  and  the  bamboos  were 
all  alive  with  the  evening  twitter  of  hidden  spar- 
rows, before  the  Lieutenant-Governor  returned. 
For  an  instant  Judith,  coming  out  at  the  sound 
of  hoofs,  failed  to  recognise  her  husband,  he 
looked,  with  a  thick  white  powder  of  dust  over 
his  beard  and  eyebrows,  so  old  a  man.  He 
stooped  in  his  saddle,  too,  and  all  the  gauntness 
of  his  face  and  figure  had  a  deeper  accent. 

"  Put  His  Honour  to  bed,  Mrs.  Church," 
cried  the  Commissioner,  lifting  his  hat  as  he 
rode  on  to  camp.  "  He  has  done  the  work  of 
six  men  to-day." 

"  You  will  be  glad  of  some  tea,"  she  said. 

He  tumbled  clumsily  out  of  his  saddle  and 
leaned  for  a  moment  against  his  animal's  shoul- 
der. The  mare  put  her  head  round  whinnying, 
but  when  Church  searched  in  his  pocket  for  her 
piece  of  sugar-cane  and  offered  it  to  her,  she 
snuffed  it  and  refused  it.  He  dropped  the 
sugar-cane  into  the  dust  at  her  feet  and  told 
the  syce  to  take  her  away. 

"  If  she  will  not  eat  her  gram  give  me  word 
of  it,"  he  said.  But  she  ate  her  gram. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  239 

"  Will  you  change  first,  John  ?  "  Judith  asked 
with  her  hand  on  his  coat-sleeve.  "  I  think  you 
should — you  are  wet  through  and  through." 

"  Yes,  I  will  change,"  he  said  ;  but  he  dropped 
into  the  first  chair  he  saw.  The  chair  stood  on 
the  verandah,  and  the  evening  breeze  had  al- 
ready begun  to  come  up.  He  threw  back  his 
head  and  unfastened  his  damp  collar  and  felt 
its  gratefulness.  In  the  intimate  neighbourhood 
of  the  dak-bungalow  the  private  secretary  could 
be  heard  splashing  in  his  tub. 

"  Poor  Sparks  !  "  said  His  Honour.  "  I'm 
afraid  he  has  had  a  hard  day  of  it.  Good 
fellow,  Sparks,  thoroughly  good  fellow.  I  hope 
he'll  get  on.  It's  very  disheartening  work,  this 
of  ours  in  India,"  he  went  on  absently ;  "  one 
feels  the  depression  of  it  always,  more  or  less, 

but  to-night "  He  paused  and  closed  his 

eyes  as  if  he  were  too  weary  to  finish  the 
sentence.  A  servant  appeared  with  a  wicker 
table  and  another  with  a  tray. 

"  A  cup  of  tea,"  said  Judith  cheerfully,  "  will 
often  redeem  the  face  of  nature  "  ;  but  he  waved 
it  back. 


240  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

"  I  am  too  hungry  for  tea.  Tell  them  to 
bring  me  a  solid  meal :  cold  beef — no,  make  it 
hot — that  game  pie  we  had  at  breakfast — any- 
thing there  is,  but  as  soon  as  possible.  How 
refreshing  this  wind  is  !  " 

"  Go  and  change,  John,"  his  wife  urged. 

"  Yes,  I  must,  immediately  :  I  shall  be  taking 
a  chill."  As  he  half  rose  from  his  chair  he  saw 
the  postman,  turbaned,  barefooted,  crossing  the 
grass  from  the  road,  and  dropped  back  again. 

"Here  is  the  dak,"  he  said;  "I  must  just 
have  a  look  first." 

Mrs.  Church  took  her  letters,  and  went  into 
the  house  to  give  orders  to  the  butler.  Five 
minutes  afterwards  she  came  back,  to  find  her 
husband  sitting  where  she  had  left  him,  but 
upright  in  his  chair  and  mechanically  stroking 
his  beard,  with  his  face  set.  He  had  grown 
paler,  if  that  was  possible,  but  had  lost  every 
trace  of  lassitude.  He  had  the  look  of  being 
face  to  face  with  a  realised  contingency  which 
his  wife  knew  well. 

"  News,  John  ?  "  she  asked  nervously  ;  "  any- 
thing important?" 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A  LADY.  241 

"  The  most  important — and  the  worst,"  he 
answered  steadily,  without  looking  at  her.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  floor,  and  on  his  course 
of  action. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dear  ?  What  has  hap- 
pened ?  May  I  see  ?  " 

For  answer  he  handed  her  his  private  letter 
from  Lord  Scansleigh.  She  opened  it  with  shak- 
ing fingers,  and  read  the  first  sentence  or  two 
aloud.  Then  instinctively  her  voice  stopped, 
and  she  finished  it  in  silence.  The  Viceroy  had 
written  : — 

"  MY  DEAR  CHURCH  :  The  accompanying  offi- 
cial correspondence  will  show  you  our  position, 
when  the  mail  left  England,  with  the  Secretary  of 
State.  I  fear  that  nothing  has  occurred  in  the  mean- 
time to  improve  it — in  fact,  one  or  two  telegrams 
seem  rather  to  point  the  other  way.  I  will  not  waste 
your  time  and  mine  in  idle  regrets,  if  indeed  they 
would  be  justifiable,  but  write  only  to  assure  you 
heartily  in  private,  as  I  do  formally  in  my  official 
letter,  that  if  we  go  we  go  together.  I  have  already 
telegraphed  this  to  Strathell,  and  will  let  you  know 
the  substance  of  his  reply  as  soon  as  I  receive  it. 
I  wish  I  could  think  that  the  prospect  of  my  own 


242  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

resignation  is  likely  to  deter  them  from  demanding 
yours,  but  I  own  to  you  that  I  expect  our  joint 
immolation  will  not  be  too  impressive  a  sacrifice  for 
the  British  Public  in  this  connection. 

"  With  kind  regards  to  Mrs.  Church,  in  which  my 
wife  joins, 

"  Believe  me,  dear  Church,  yours  sincerely, 

"SCANSLEIGH." 


They  spoke  for  a  few  minutes  of  the  Vice- 
roy's loyalty  and  consideration  and  apprecia- 
tion. She  dwelt  upon  that  with  instinctive  tact, 
and  then  Church  got  up  quickly. 

"  I  must  write  to  Scansleigh  at  once,"  he 
said.  "  I  am  afraid  he  is  determined  about 
this,  but  I  must  write.  There  is  a  great  deal 
to  do.  When  Sparks  comes  out  send  him  to 
me."  Then  he  went  over  to  her  and  awkwardly 
kissed  her.  "  You  have  taken  it  very  well, 
Judith,"  he  said — "  better  than  any  woman  I 
know  would  have  done." 

She  put  a  quick  detaining  hand  upon  his 
arm.  "  Oh,  John,  it  is  only  for  your  sake  that 
I  care  at  all.  I — I  am  so  tired  of  it.  I  should 
be  only  too  glad  to  go  home  with  you,  dear,  and 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  243 

find  some  little  place  in  the  country  where  we 
could  live  quietly " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  hurrying  away.  "  We 
can  discuss  that  afterwards.  Don't  keep  Sparks 
talking." 

Sparks  appeared  presently,  swinging  an  em- 
bossed silver  cylinder  half  a  yard  long.  New 
washed  and  freshly  clad  in  garments  of  clean 
country  silk,  with  his  damp  hair  brushed  crisply 
off  his  forehead,  there  was  a  pinkness  and  a 
healthiness  about  Sparks  that  would  have  been 
refreshing  at  any  other  moment.  "  Have  you 
seen  this  bauble,  Mrs.  Church  ? "  he  inquired  : 
"  Bhugsi's  tribute,  enshrining  the  address.  It 
makes  the  fifth." 

Judith  looked  at  it,  and  back  at  Captain 
Sparks,  who  saw,  with  a  falling  countenance, 
that  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  the  last  he  will  ever  receive,"  she  said, 
and  one  of  the  tears  found  its  way  down  her 
cheek.  "  They  have  asked  him  from  England 
to  resign — they  say  he  must." 

Captain  Sparks,  private  secretary,  stood  for 
a  moment  with  his  legs  apart  in  blank  astonish- 


244  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

ment,  while  Mrs.  Church  sought  among  the  folds 
of  her  skirt  for  her  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  By  the  Lord — impossible  !  "  he  burst  out ; 
and  then,  as  Judith  pointed  mutely  to  her  hus- 
band's room,  he  turned  and  shot  in  that  direc- 
tion, leaving  her,  as  her  sex  is  usually  left,  with 
the  teacups  and  the  situation. 

A  few  hours  later  Captain  Sparks'  dreams  of 
the  changed  condition  of  things  were  inter- 
rupted by  a  knock.  It  was  Mrs.  Church,  sleepy- 
eyed,  in  her  dressing-gown,  with  a  candle ;  and 
she  wanted  the  chlorodyne  from  the  little  travel- 
ling medicine  chest,  which  was  among  the  pri- 
vate secretary's  things. 

"  My  husband  seems  to  have  got  a  chill,"  she 
said.  "  It  must  have  been  while  he  sat  in  the 
verandah.  I  am  afraid  he  is  in  for  a  wretched 
night." 

"  Three  fingers  of  brandy,"  suggested  Sparks 
concernedly,  getting  out  the  bottle.  "  Nothing 
like  brandy." 

"  He  has  tried  brandy.  About  twenty  drops 
of  this,  I  suppose  ?  " 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  245 

"  I  should  think  so.     Can  I  be  of  any  use?" 

Judith  said  No,  thanks — she  hoped  her  hus- 
band would  get  some  sleep  presently.  She 
went  away,  shielding  her  flickering  candle,  and 
darkness  and  silence  came  again  where  she  had 
been. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  she  came  back, 
and  it  appeared  that  Captain  Sparks  could  be  of 
use.  The  chill  seemed  obstinate ;  they  must 
rouse  the  servants  and  get  fires  made  and  water 
heated.  Judith  wanted  to  know  how  soon  one 
might  repeat  the  dose  of  chlorodyne.  She  was 
very  much  awake,  and  had  that  serious,  pale 
decision  with  which  women  take  action  in  emer- 
gencies of  sickness. 

Later  still  they  stood  outside  the  door  of  his 
room  and  looked  at  each  other.  "  There  is  a 
European  doctor  at  Bhai  Gunj,"  said  Captain 
Sparks.  "  He  may  be  here  with  luck  by  six 
o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon — this  afternoon." 
He  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  it  was  past 
midnight.  "  Bundal  Singh  has  gone  for  him,  and 
Juddoo  for  the  native  apothecary  at  Bhugsi — but 
he  will  be  useless.  Robertson  will  be  over 


246  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

immediately.       He     has     seen    cases     of    it,    I 
know." 

A  thick  sound  came  from  the  room  they  had 
left,  and  they  hurried  back  into  it. 

"  Water  ?  "  repeated  the  Commissioner ;  "  yes, 
as  much  as  he  likes.  I  wish  to  God  we  had  some 
ice." 

"  Then,  sir,  I  may  take  leave  ? "  It  was  the 
unctuous  voice  of  the  native  apothecary. 

"  No,  you  may  not.  Damn  you,  I  suppose 
you  can  help  to  rub  him?  Quick,  Sparks;  the 
turpentine ! " 

Next  day  at  noon  arrived  Hari  Lai,  who  had 
travelled  many  hours  and  many  miles  with  a 
petition  to  the  Chota  Lat  Sahib,  wherein  he  and 
his  village  implored  that  the  goats  might  eat  the 
young  shoots  in  the  forest  as  aforetime  ;  for  if  not 
— they  were  all  poor  men — how  should  the  goats 
eat  at  all  ?  Hari  Lai  arrived  upon  his  beast,  and 
saw  from  afar  off  that  there  was  a  chuprassie  in 
red  and  gold  upon  the  verandah  whose  favour 
would  cost  money.  So  he  dismounted  at  a  con- 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  247 

siderable  and  respectful  distance,  and  ap- 
proached humbly,  with  salaams  and  words  that 
were  suitable  to  a  chuprassie  in  red  and  gold. 
The  heat  stood  fiercely  about  the  bungalow,  and 
it  was  so  silent  that  a  pair  of  sparrows  scolding 
in  the  verandah  made  the  most  unseemly 
wrangle. 

Bundal  Singh  had  not  the  look  of  business. 
He  sat  immovable  upon  his  haunches,  with  his 
hands  hanging  between  his  knees.  His  head  fell 
forward  heavily,  his  eyes  were  puffed,  and  he 
regarded  Hari  Lai  with  indifference. 

"  O  most  excellent,  how  can  a  poor  man  seek- 
ing justice  speak  with  the  Lat  Sahib  ?  The  mat- 
ter is  a  matter  of  goats " 

"Bus!  The  Lat  Sahib  died  in  the  little 
dawn.  This  place  is  empty  but  for  the  widow. 
Mutti  dani  w asti  gia — they  have  gone  to  give  the 
earth.  It  was  the  bad  sickness,  and  the  pain  of 
it  lasted  only  five  hours.  When  he  was  dead, 
worthy  one,  his  face  was  like  a  blue  puggri 
that  has  been  thrice  washed,  and  his  hand  was 
no  larger  than  the  hand  of  my  woman !  What 
talk  is  there  of  justice  ?  Bus  /  " 


248  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

Hari  Lai  heard  him  through  with  a  coun- 
tenance that  grew  ever  more  terrified.  Then  he 
spat  vigorously,  and  got  again  upon  his  animal. 
"And  you,  fool,  why  do  you  sit  here  ?"  he  asked 
quaveringly,  as  he  sawed  at  the  creature's 
mouth. 

"  Because  the  servant-folk  of  the  Sirkar  do 
not  run  away.  Who  then  would  do  justice  and 
collect  taxes,  budzat?  Jao,  you  Bengali  rice- 
eater  !  I  am  of  a  country  where  those  who  are 
not  women  are  men  !  " 

The  Bengali  rice-eater  went  as  he  was  bidden, 
and  only  a  little  curling  cloud  of  white  dust, 
sinking  back  into  the  road  under  the  sun,  re- 
mained to  tell  of  him.  Bundal  Singh,  hoarse 
with  hours  of  howling,  lifted  up  his  voice  in  the 
silence  because  of  the  grief  within  him,  and 
howled  again. 

A  little  wind  stole  out  from  under  a  clump 
of  mango  trees  and  chased  some  new-curled 
shavings  about  the  verandah,  and  did  its  best 
to  blow  them  in  at  the  closed  shutters  of  a 
darkened  room.  The  shavings  were  too  sub- 
stantial, but  the  scent  of  the  fresh-cut  planks 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  249 

came  through,  and  brought  the  stunned  wom- 
an on  the  bed  a  sickening  realisation  of 
one  unalterable  fact  in  the  horror  of  great 
darkness  through  which  she  groped,  babbling 
prayers. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  IT  was  all  very  well  for  him,  poor  man,  to 
want  to  be  buried  in  that  hole-and-corner  kind 
of  way — where  he  fell,  I  suppose,  doing  his  duty : 
very  simple  and  proper,  I'm  sure  ;  and  I  should 
have  felt  just  the  same  about  it  in  his  place — 
but  on  her  account  he  ought  to  have  made  it 
possible  for  them  to  have  taken  him  back  to 
Calcutta  and  given  him  a  public  funeral." 

Mrs.  Daye  spoke  feelingly,  gently  tapping  her 
egg.  Mrs.  Daye  never  could  induce  herself  to 
cut  off  the  top  of  an  egg  with  one  fell  blow ; 
she  always  tapped  it,  tenderly,  first. 

"  It  would  have  been  something !  "  she  con- 
tinued. "  Poor  dear  thing !  I  was  so  fond  of 
Mrs.  Church." 

"  I  see  they  have  started  subscriptions  to  give 
him  a  memorial  of  sorts,"  remarked  her  husband 
from  behind  his  newspaper.  "  But  whether  it's 

250 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  251 

to  be  put  in  Bhugsi  or  in  Calcutta  doesn't  seem 
to  be  arranged." 

"  Oh,  in  Calcutta,  of  course  !  They  won't  get 
fifty  rupees  if  it's  to  be  put  up  at  Bhugsi.  Nobody 
would  subscribe !  " 

"  Is  there  room  ?  "  asked  Miss  Daye  meekly, 
from  the  other  side  of  the  table.  "  The  illus- 
trious are  already  so  numerous  on  the  Maidan. 
Is  there  no  danger  of  overcrowding  ?  " 

"  How  ridiculous  you  are,  Rhoda !  You'll 
subscribe,  Richard,  of  course  ?  Considering  how 
very  kind  they've  been  to  us  I  should  say — 
what  do  you  think  ? — a  hundred  rupees."  Mrs. 
Daye  buttered  her  toast  with  knitted  brows. 

"  We'll  see.  Hello !  Spence  is  coming  out 
again.  '  By  special  arrangement  with  the  India 
Office.'  He's  fairly  well  now,  it  seems,  and  will- 
ing to  sacrifice  the  rest  of  his  leave  '  rather  than 
put  Government  to  the  inconvenience  of  another 
possible  change  of  policy  in  Bengal.'  That 
means,"  Colonel  Daye  continued,  putting  down 
the  Calcutta  paper  and  taking  up  his  coffee-cup, 
"  that  Spence  has  got  his  orders  from  Downing 

Street,  and  is  being  packed  back  to  reverse  this 
17 


252  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

College  Grants  business.  But  old  Hawkins 
won't  have  much  of  a  show,  will  he?  Spence 
will  be  out  in  three  weeks." 

"  I'm  very  pleased,"  Mrs.  Daye  remarked 
vigorously.  "  Mrs.  Hawkins  was  bad  enough 
in  the  Board  of  Revenue ;  she'd  be  unbearable  at 
Belvedere.  And  Mrs.  Church  was  so  /wfectly 
unaffected.  But  I  don't  think  we  would  be  quite 
justified  in  giving  a  hundred,  Richard — seventy- 
five  would  be  ample." 

"  One  would  think,  mummie,  that  the  hat 
was  going  round  for  Mrs.  Church,"  said  her 
daughter. 

"  Hats  have  gone  round  for  less  deserving 
persons,"  Colonel  Daye  remarked,  "  and  in  cases 
where  there  was  less  need  of  them,  too.  St. 
George  writes  me  that  there  was  no  insurances, 
and  not  a  penny  saved.  Church  has  always 
been  obliged  to  do  so  much  for  his  people.  The 
widow's  income  will  be  precisely  her  three  hun- 
dred a  year  of  pension,  and  no  more — bread  and 
butter,  but  no  jam." 

"  Talking  of  jam,"  said  Mrs.  Daye,  with  an 
effect  of  pathos,  "if  you  haven't  eaten  it  all, 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  253 

Richard,  I  should  like  some.  Poor  dear  thing  ! 
And  if  she  marries  again,  she  loses  even  that, 
doesn't  she  ?  Oh,  no,  she  doesn't,  either :  there 
was  that  Madras  woman  that  had  three  hus- 
bands and  three  pensions ;  they  came  altogether 
to  nine  hundred  a  year  in  the  end.  Of  course, 
money  is  out  of  the  question  ;  but  a  little  offering 
of  something  useful — made  in  a  friendly  way — 
she  might  even  be  grateful  for.  I  am  thinking 
of  sending  her  a  little  something." 

"What,  mummie?"  Rhoda  demanded,  with 
suspicion. 

"  That  long  black  cloak  I  got  when  we  all 
had  to  go  into  mourning  for  your  poor  dear 
grandmother,  Rhoda.  I've  hardly  worn  it  at 
all.  Of  course,  it  would  require  a  little  altera- 
tion, but " 

"  Mummie  !  How  beastly  of  you !  You  must 
not  dream  of  doing  it." 

"  It's  fur-lined,"  said  Mrs.  Daye,  with  an  in- 
jured inflection.  "  Besides,  she  isn't  the  wife  of 
the  L.G.  now,  you  know." 

«  Papa " 

"  What  ?      Oh,    certainly   not !      Ridiculous  ! 


254  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

Besides,  you're  too  late  with  your  second-hand 
souvenir,  my  dear.  St.  George  says  that  Mrs. 
Church  sails  to-day  from  Calcutta.  Awfully  cut 
up,  poor  woman,  he  says.  Wouldn't  go  back  to 
Belvedere ;  wouldn't  see  a  soul :  went  to  a 
boarding-house  and  shut  herself  up  in  two 
rooms." 

"  How  unkind  you  are  about  news,  Richard ! 
Fancy  your  not  telling  us  that  before  !  And  I 
think  you  and  Rhoda  are  quite  wrong  about  the 
cloak.  If  you  had  died  suddenly  of  cholera  in  a 
a  dak-bungalow  in  the  wilds  and  /  was  left 
with  next  to  nothing,  I  would  accept  little 
presents  from  friends  in  the  spirit  in  which  they 
were  offered,  no  matter  what  my  position  had 
been !  " 

"  I  daresay  you  would,  my  dear.  But  if  I— 
hello !  Exchange  is  going  up  again — if  I  catch 
you  wearing  cast-off  mourning  for  me,  I'll  come 
and  hang  around  until  you  burn  it.  By  the  way, 
I  saw  Doyle  last  night  at  the  Club." 

"  The  barrister  ?  Did  you  speak  to  him  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Daye. 

"  Yes.     '  Hello  ! '  I  said  :  '  thought  you  were 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  255 

on  leave.  What  in  the  world  brings  you  up 
here  ? '  Seems  that  Pattore  telegraphed  askin' 
Doyle  to  defend  him  in  this  big  diamond  case 
with  Ezra,  and  he  came  out.  '  Well,'  I  said, 
'  Pattore's  in  Calcutta,  Ezra's  in  Calcutta,  dia- 
mond's in  Calcutta,  an'  you're  in  Darjiling. 
When  I'm  sued  for  two  lakhs  over  a  stone 
to  dangle  on  my  tummy  I  won't  retain  you ! ' ' 

"  And  what  did  Mr.  Doyle  say  to  that, 
papa  ?  "  his  daughter  inquired. 

"  Oh — I  don't  remember.  Something  about 
never  having  seen  the  place  before  or  some- 
thing. Here,  khansamah — cheroot !  " 

The  man  brought  a  box  and  lighted  a  match, 
which  he  presently  applied  to  one  end  of  the 
cigar  while  his  master  pulled  at  the  other. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Daye,  thoughtfully  dab- 
bling in  her  finger-bowl,  "  about  this  statue  or 
whatever  it  is  to  Mr.  Church — if  it  were  a  mere 
question  of  inclination — but  as  things  are,  Rich- 
ard, I  really  don't  think  we  can  afford  more  than 
fifty.  It  isn't  as  if  it  could  do  the  poor  man 
any  good.  Where  are  you  going,  Rhoda? 
Wait  a  minute." 


256  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

Mrs.  Daye  followed  her  daughter  out  of  the 
room,  shutting  the  door  behind  her,  and  put 
an  impressive  hand  upon  Rhoda's  arm  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  said,  with  a  note  of  can- 
did  compassion,  "  what  do  you  think  has  hap- 
pened ?  Your  father  and  I  were  discussing  it  as 
you  came  down,  but  I  said  '  Not  a  word  before 
Rhoda ! '  They  have  made  Lewis  Ancram 
Chief  Commissioner  of  Assam  !  " 

The  colour  came  back  into  the  girl's  face  with 
a  rush,  and  the  excitement  went  out  of  her  eyes. 

"  Good  heavens,  mummie,  how  you Why 

shouldn't  they  ?  Isn't  he  a  proper  per- 
son ?  " 

"  Very  much  so.  That  has  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  Think  of  it,  Rhoda — a  Chief  Com- 
missioner, at  his  age !  And  you  cant  say  I 
didn't  prophesy  it.  The  rising  man  in  the  Civil 
Service  I  always  told  you  he  was." 

"  And  I  never  contradicted  you,  mummie 
dear !  My  own  opinion  is  that  when  Abdur 
Rahman  dies  they'll  make  him  Amir!"  Rhoda 
laughed  a  gay,  irresponsible  laugh,  and  tripped 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  257 

on  upstairs  with  singular  lightness  of  step. 
Mrs.  Daye,  leaning  upon  the  end  of  the 
banister,  followed  her  with  reproachful 
eyes. 

"  You  seem  to  take  it  very  lightly,  Rhoda, 
but  I  must  say  it  serves  you  perfectly  right 
for  having  thrown  the  poor  man  over  in  that 
disgraceful  way.  Girls  who  behave  like  that 
are  generally  sorry  for  it  later.  I  knew  of  a 
chit  here  in  Darjiling  that  jilted  a  man  in  the 
Staff  Corps  and  ran  away  with  a  tea-planter. 
The  man  will  be  the  next  Commander-in-Chief 
of  the  Indian  Army,  everybody  says,  and  I  hope 
she  likes  her  tea-planter." 

"  Mummie !  "  Rhoda  called  down  confiden- 
tially from  the  landing. 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Put  your  head  in  a  bag,  mummie.  I'm  go- 
ing out.  Shall  I  bring  you  some  chocolates  or 
some  nougat  or  anything  ?  " 

"  I  shall  tell  your  father  to  whip  you.  Yes, 
chocolates  if  they're  fresh  —  insist  upon  that. 
Those  crumbly  Neapolitan  ones,  in  silver-and- 
gold  paper." 


258  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

"  All  right.     And  mummie  !  " 
"What?" 

"  Write  and  congratulate  Mr.  Ancram.     Then 
he'll  know  there's  no  ill-feeling  !  " 
Which  Mrs.  Daye  did. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

TEN  minutes  later  Rhoda  stood  fastening  her 
glove  at  her  father's  door  and  looking  out  upon 
a  world  of  suddenly  novel  charm.  The  door 
opened,  as  it  were,  upon  eternity,,  with  a  patch 
of  garden  between,  but  eternity  was  blue  and 
sun-filled  and  encouraging.  The  roses  and 
sweet-williams  stood  sheer  against  the  sky,  with 
fifty  yellow  butterflies  dancing  above  them. 
Over  the  verge  of  the  garden — there  was  not 
more  than  ten  feet  of  it  in  any  direction — she 
saw  tree-tops  and  the  big  green  shoulders  of 
the  lower  hills,  and  very  far  down  a  mat  of 
fleecy  clouds  that  hid  the  flanks  of  some  of 
these.  The  sunlight  was  tempting,  enticing. 
It  made  the  rubble  path  warm  beneath  her 
feet  and  drew  up  the  scent  of  the  garden 
until  the  still  air  palpitated  with  it.  Rhoda 
took  little  desultory  steps  to  the  edge  of  the 

259 


260  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

ledge  the  house  was  built  on,  and  down  the 
steep  footway  to  the  road.  The  white  oaks  met 
over  her  head,  and  far  up  among  the  tree-ferns 
she  heard  a  cuckoo.  Its  note  softened  and  ac- 
cented her  unreasoned  gladness,  seemed  to 
give  it  a  form  and  a  metre.  She  looked  up 
into  the  fragrant  leafy  shadows  and  listened 
till  it  came  again,  vaguely  aware  that  it  was 
enough  to  live  for.  If  she  had  another 
thought  it  was  that  Philip  Doyle  had  come 
too  late  to  see  the  glory  of  the  rhododen- 
drons, there  was  only,  here  and  there,  a  red 
rag  of  them  left. 

She  stepped  with  a  rattle  of  pebbles  into  the 
wide  main  road  round  the  mountain,  and  there 
stood  for  a  moment  undecided.  It  was  the  chief 
road,  the  Mall ;  and  if  she  turned  to  the  right  it 
would  lead  her  past  the  half-dozen  tiny  European 
shops  that  clung  to  the  side  of  the  hill,  past  the 
hotels  and  the  club,  and  through  the  expansion 
where  the  band  played  in  the  afternoon,  where 
there  were  benches  and  an  admirable  view,  and 
where  new-comers  to  Darjiling  invariably  sat  for 
two  or  three  days  and  contentedly  occupied 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  26l 

themselves  with  processes  of  oxygenation.  This 
part  of  the  Mall  was  frequented  and  fashionable  ; 
even  at  that  hour  she  would  meet  her  acquaint- 
ances on  hill  ponies  and  her  mother's  friends  in 
dandies  and  her  mother's  friends'  babies  in  per- 
ambulators, with  a  plentiful  background  of 
slouching  Bhutia  coolies,  their  old  felt  hats 
tied  on  with  their  queues,  and  red-coats  from 
a  recuperating  regiment,  and  small  black-and- 
white  terriers.  It  was  not  often  that  this 
prospect  attracted  her ;  she  had  discovered  a 
certain  monotony  in  its  cheerfulness  some  time 
before ;  but  to-day  she  had  to  remind  herself 
of  that  discovery  before  she  finally  decided  to 
turn  to  the  left  instead.  She  had  another 
reason :  if  she  went  that  way  it  might  look 
to  Philip  Doyle  as  if  she  wanted  to  meet  him. 
Why  this  gentleman  should  have  come  to  so 
extraordinary  a  conclusion  on  the  data  at  his 
disposal  Miss  Daye  did  not  pause  to  explain. 
She  was  quite  certain  that  he  would,  so  she 
turned  to  the  left. 

It  suited  her  mood,  when  once  she  had  taken 
that  direction,  to  walk  very  fast.      She  had  an 


262  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

undefined  sense  of  keeping  pace  with  events ; 
her  vigorous  steps  made  a  rhythm  for  her 
buoyant  thought,  and  helped  it  out.  She  was 
entirely  occupied  with  the  way  in  which  she 
would  explain  to  Mr.  Doyle  how  it  was  that 
she  was  not  married  to  Lewis  Ancram.  She 
anticipated  a  pleasure  in  this,  and  she  thought 
it  was  because  Doyle  would  be  gratified,  on  his 
friend's  account.  He  had  never  liked  the  match 
— she  clung  to  that  impression  in  all  humility — 
he  would  perhaps  approve  of  her  breaking  it  off. 
Rhoda  felt  a  little  excited  satisfaction  at  the 
idea  of  being  approved  of  by  Philip  Doyle. 
She  put  the  words  with  which  she  would  tell 
him  into  careful  phrases  as  she  walked,  con- 
structing and  reconstructing  them,  while  Buzz 
kept  an  erratic  course  before  her  with  inquisi- 
tive pauses  by  the  wayside  and  vain  chasing  of 
little  striped  squirrels  that  whisked  about  the 
boles  of  the  trees.  Buzz,  she  thought,  had  never 
been  more  idiotically  amusing. 

The  road  grew  boskier  and  lonelier.  Miss 
Daye  met  a  missionary  lady  in  a  jinricksha,  and 
then  a  couple  of  schoolboys  sprinting,  and  then 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  263 

for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  nobody  at  all.  The  little 
white  houses  stopped  cropping  out  on  ledges 
above  her  head,  the  wall  of  rock  or  of  rubble 
rose  solidly  up,  wet  and  glistening,  and  tapes- 
tried thick  with  tiny  ferns  and  wild  begonias. 
All  at  once,  looking  over  the  brink,  she  saw 
that  the  tin  roofs  of  the  cottages  down  the 
khud-side  no  longer  shone  in  the  sun ;  the 
clouds  had  rolled  between  it  and  them — very 
likely  down  there  it  was  raining.  Presently 
the  white  mist  smoked  up  level  with  the  road, 
and  she  and  the  trees  and  the  upper  mountain 
stood  in  dappled  sunlight  for  a  moment  alone 
above  a  phantasmally  submerged  world.  Then 
the  crisp  leaf-shadows  on  the  road  grew  indis- 
tinct and  faded,  the  sunlight  paled  and  went 
out,  and  in  a  moment  there  was  nothing  near 
or  far  but  a  wandering  greyness,  and  here  and 
there  perhaps  the  shadowed  bole  of  an  oak-tree 
or  the  fantastic  outline  of  a  solitary  nodding 
fern. 

"  It's  going  to  rain,  Buzz,"  she  said,  as  the 
little  dog  mutely  inquired  for  encouragement 
and  direction,  "and  neither  of  us  have  got  an 


264  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

umbrella.  So  we'll  both  get  wet  and  take  our 
death  of  cold.  Sumja*  Buzz?" 

As  she  spoke  they  passed  the  blurred  figure 
of  a  man,  walking  rapidly  in  the  other  direction. 
"  Buzz ! "  Rhoda  cried,  as  the  dog  turned  and 
trotted  briskly  after:  "Come  back,  sir!"  Buzz 
took  no  notice  whatever,  and  immediately  she 
heard  him  addressed  in  a  voice  which  made  a 
sudden  requirement  upon  her  self-control.  She 
had  a  divided  impulse — to  betake  herself  on  as 
fast  as  she  could  into  remote  indistinguishability, 
and  to  call  the  dog  again.  With  a  little  effort  of 
hardihood  she  turned  and  called  him,  turned 
with  a  thumping  heart,  and  waited  for  his  resto- 
ration and  for  anything  else  that  might  happen. 
The  mist  drifted  up  for  a  moment  as  Philip 
Doyle  heard  her  and  came  quickly  back;  and 
when  they  shook  hands  they  stood  in  a  little 
white  temple  with  uncertain  walls  and  a  ceiling 
decoration  of  tree-ferns  in  high  relief. 

She  asked  him  when  he  had  come,  although 
she  knew  that  already,  and  he  inquired  for  her 

*  "  Do  you  understand  ?  " 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  265 

mother,  although  he  was  quite  informed  as  to 
Mrs.  Daye's  well-being.  He  explained  Buzz's 
remembering  him,  as  if  he  had  taken  an  unfair 
advantage  of  it,  and  they  announced  simultane- 
ously that  it  was  going  to  rain.  Then  conversa- 
tion seemed  to  fail  them  wholly,  and  Rhoda 
made  a  movement  of  departure. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  some  friend  in 
the  neighbourhood,"  he  said,  lifting  his  hat,  "  if 
there  is  any  neighbourhood — which  one  is  in- 
clined to  doubt." 

"  Oh,  no,  I'm  only  walking." 

"All  alone?" 

"  Buzz,"  she  said,  with  a  downcast  smile. 

"  Buzz  is  such  an  effective  protection  that  I'm 
inclined  to  ask  you  to  share  him."  His  voice 
was  even  more  tentative  than  his  words.  He 
fancied  he  would  have  made  a  tremendous  ad- 
vance if  she  allowed  him  to  come  with  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said  foolishly,  "  you  may  have 
half." 

"  Thank  you.  I  am  three  miles  from  my 
club,  twenty-four  hours  from  my  office,  and  four 
thousand  feet  above  sea-level — and  I  don't  mind 


266  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

confessing  that  I'm  very  frightened  indeed. 
How  long,  I  wonder,  does  it  take  to  acquire 
the  magnificent  indifference  to  the  elements 
which  you  display  ?  But  the  storm  is  indubi- 
tably coming :  don't  you  think  we  had  better  turn 
back?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said  again,  and  they  turned  back  ; 
but  they  sauntered  along  among  the  clouds  at 
precisely  the  pace  they  might  have  taken  in  the 
meadows  of  the  world  below. 

She  asked  him  where  he  had  spent  his  leave 
and  how  he  had  enjoyed  it,  and  she  gathered 
from  his  replies  that  one  might  stay  too  long  in 
India  to  find  even  Italy  wholly  paradisaical, 
although  Monte  Carlo  had  always  its  same  old 
charm.  "  You  should  see  Monte  Carlo  before 
some  cataclysm  overtakes  it,"  he  said.  "  You 
would  find  it  amusing.  I  spent  a  month  at 
Homburg,"  he  went  on  humorously,  "  with  what 
I  consider  the  greatest  possible  advantage  to  my 
figure.  Though  my  native  friends  have  been 
openly  condoling  with  me  on  my  consequent  loss 
of  prestige,  and  I  have  no  doubt  my  sylph-like 
condition  will  undermine  my  respectability." 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  267 

He  felt,  as  he  spoke,  deplorably  middle-aged,  and 
to  mention  these  things  seemed  to  be  a  kind  of 
apology  for  them. 

Rhoda  looked  at  him  with  the  conviction 
that  he  had  left  quite  ten  years  in  Europe,  but 
she  found  herself  oddly  reluctant  to  say  so. 
"  Mummie  will  tell  you,"  she  said.  "  Mummie 
always  discovers  the  most  wonderful  changes  in 
people  when  they  have  been  home.  And  why 
did  you  come  back  so  soon  ?  " 

"  Why?  "  he  repeated,  half  facing  round,  and 
then  suddenly  dropping  back  again.  "  I  came 
to  see  about  something." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course  you  did.  I  know  about 
it.  And  do  you  think  you  will  win?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  of  timid  in- 
telligence. Under  it  she  was  thinking  that  she 
had  never  had  such  a  stupid  conversation  with 
Mr.  Doyle  before.  He  smiled  back  gravely,  and 
considered  for  a  moment. 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  know,"  he  said  with  cour- 
ageous directness ;  "  but  I  mean  to  try — very  hard." 

If  he  had  thought,  he  might  have  kept  the 
suggestion  out  of  his  voice — it  was  certainly  a 

18 


268  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

little  premature — but  he  did  not  think,  and  the 
suggestion  was  there.  Rhoda  felt  her  soul  leap 
up  to  catch  its  full  significance ;  then  she  grew 
very  white,  and  shivered  a  little.  The  shiver 
was  natural  enough  :  two  or  three  big  drops  had 
struck  her  on  the  shoulders,  and  others  were 
driving  down  upon  the  road,  with  wide  spaces 
between  them,  but  heavily  determined,  and  mak- 
ing little  splashes  where  they  struck. 

"  It  is  going  to  pour,"  she  said  ;  and,  as  they 
walked  on  with  a  futile  quickening  of  pace,  she 
heard  him  talk  of  something  else,  and  called  her- 
self a  fool  for  the  tumult  in  her  heart.  The  rain 
gathered  itself  together  and  pelted  them.  She 
was  glad  of  the  excuse  to  break  blindly  into  a 
run,  and  Doyle  needed  all  his  newly  acquired 
energy  to  keep  up  with  her.  The  storm  was 
behind  them,  and  as  it  darkened  and  thickened 
and  crashed  and  drove  them  on,  Rhoda's  blood 
tingled  with  a  wild  sweet  knowledge  that  she 
fled  before  something  stronger  and  stranger 
than  the  storm,  and  that  in  the  end  she  would 
be  overtaken,  in  the  end  she  would  cede.  Her 
sense  of  this  culminated  when  Philip  Doyle  put 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  26o 

a  staying  hand  upon  her  arm — she  could  not 
have  heard  him  speak — and  she  sped  on  faster, 
with  a  little  frightened  cry. 

"  Come  back !  "  he  shouted  ;  and,  without 
knowing  why,  she  did  as  he  bade  her,  struggling 
at  every  step,  it  seemed,  into  a  chaos  out  of 
which  the  rain  smote  her  on  both  cheeks,  with 
only  one  clear  sensation — that  he  had  her  hand 
very  closely  pressed  to  his  side,  and  that  some- 
where or  other,  presently,  there  would  be 
shelter.  They  found  it  not  ten  yards  behind — 
one  of  those  shallow  caves  that  Sri  Krishna 
scooped  out  long  ago  to  lodge  his  beggar  priests 
in.  Some  Bhutia  coolies  had  been  cooking  a 
meal  there;  a  few  embers  still  glowed  on  a  heap 
of  ashes  in  the  middle  of  the  place.  Doyle  ex- 
plained,  as  he  thrust  her  gently  in,  that  these  had 
caught  his  eye. 

"  You  won't  mind  my  leaving  you  here,"  he 
said,  "  while  I  go  on  for  a  dandy  and  wraps  and 
things  ?  I  shall  not  be  a  moment  longer  than  I 
can  help.  You  won't  be  afraid  ?  " 

"  In  this  rain !  It  would  be  wicked.  Yes,  I 
shall — I  shall  be  horribly  afraid  !  You  must  stay 


270  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

here  too,  until  it  is  over.  Please  come  inside  at 
once." 

The  little  imperious  note  thrilled  Doyle ;  but 
he  stayed  where  he  was. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "  this  may  last  for 
hours,  and,  if  you  don't  get  home  somehow,  you 
are  bound  to  get  a  chill.  Besides,  I  must  let 
your  mother  know." 

"  It  will  probably  be  over  by  the  time  you 
reach  the  house.  And  my  mother  is  always 
quite  willing  to  entrust  me  to  Providence,  Mr. 
Doyle.  And  if  you  go  I'll  come,  too." 

She  looked  so  resolute  that  Doyle  hesi- 
tated. "  Won't  you  be  implored  to  stay  here  ?  " 
he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Not  if  you  go,"  she 
said.  And,  without  further  parley,  he  stooped 
and  came  in. 

They  could  not  stand  upright  against  the  shelv- 
ing sides  and  roof  of  the  place,  so  perforce  they 
sat  upon  the  ground — she,  with  her  feet  tucked 
under  her,  leaning  upon  one  hand,  in  the  way 
of  her  sex,  he  hugging  his  knees.  There  might 
have  been  thirty  cubic  feet  of  space  in  the  cave, 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  371 

but  it  was  not  comfortably  apportioned,  and  he 
had  to  crouch  rather  awkwardly  to  keep  himself 
at  what  he  considered  a  proper  distance.  It  was 
warm  and  dry  there,  and  the  dull  fire  of  the  em- 
bers in  the  middle  gave  a  centre  and  a  signifi- 
cance to  the  completeness  of  their  shelter.  The 
clouds  hung  like  a  grey  curtain  before  the  en- 
trance, bordered  all  round  with  trailing  vines 
and  drooping  ferns;  the  beat  of  the  rain  came 
in  to  them  in  a  heavy  distant  monotone,  and  even 
the  thunder  seemed  to  be  rolling  in  a  muffled 
way  among  the  valleys  below.  Doyle  felt  that 
nothing  could  be  more  perfect  than  their  soli- 
tude. He  would  not  speak,  lest  his  words  should 
people  it  with  commonplaces ;  he  almost  feared 
to  move,  lest  he  should  destroy  the  accident  that 
gave  him  the  privilege  of  such  closeness  to  her. 
The  little  place  was  filled,  it  seemed  to  him,  with 
a  certain  divine  exhalation  of  her  personality, 
of  her  freshness  and  preciousness ;  he  breathed 
it,  and  grew  young  again,  and  bold.  In  the 
moments  of  silence  that  fell  their  love  arose 
before  them  like  a  presence.  The  girl  saw  how 
beautiful  it  was  without  looking,  the  man  asked 


272  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

himself  how  long  he  could  wait  for  its  reali- 
sation. 

"  Are  you  very  wet?  "  he  asked  her  at  last. 

"  No  ;  only  my  jacket." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  take  it  off,  oughtn't  you  ? 
Let  me  help  you." 

He  had  to  lean  closer  to  her  for  that.  The 
wet  little  coat  came  off  with  difficulty  ;  and  then 
he  put  an  audacious  hand  upon  the  warm  shoul- 
der in  its  cambric  blouse  underneath,  with  a 
suddenly  taught  confidence  that  it  would  not 
shrink  away. 

"  Only  a  little  damp,"  he  said.  It  was  the 
most  barefaced  excuse  for  his  caressing  fingers. 
"  Tell  me,  darling,  when  a  preposterously  vener- 
able person  like  me  wishes  to  make  a  proposal  of 
marriage  to  somebody  who  is  altogether  sweet 
and  young  and  lovable  like  you,  has  he  any  busi- 
ness to  take  advantage  of  a  romantic  situation  to 
do  it  in?" 

She  did  not  answer.  The  lightness  of  his 
words  somewhat  disturbed  her  sense  of  their 
import.  Then  she  looked  into  his  face,  and  saw 
the  wonderful  difference  that  the  hope  of  her 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  273 

had  written  there,  and,  without  any  more  ques- 
tioning, she  permitted  herself  to  understand. 

"  Think  about  it  for  a  little  while,"  he  said, 
and  came  a  good  deal  nearer,  and  drew  her  head 
down  upon  his  breast.  He  knew  a  lifetime  of 
sweet  content  in  the  space  it  rested  there, 
while  he  laid  his  lips  softly  upon  her  hair  and 
made  certain  that  no  other  woman's  was  so 
sweet-scented. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  But " 

"But?" 

"  But  you  never  did  approve  of  me." 

"  Didn't  I  ?  I  don't  know.  I  have  always 
loved  you." 

"  I  have  never  loved  anybody — before." 

That  was  as  near  as  she  managed  to  get,  then 
or  for  long  thereafter,  to  the  matter  of  her  pre- 
vious engagement. 

"  No.     Of  course  not.     But  for  the  future  ?  " 

Without  taking  her  head  from  his  shoulder, 
she  lifted  her  eyes  to  his ;  and  he  found  the 
pledge  he  sought  in  them. 

And  that  upturning  of  her  face  brought  her 


274  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

lips,  her  newly  grave,  sweet,  submissive  lips, 
very  near,  and  the  gladness  within  him  was  new- 
born and  strong.  And  so  the  storm  swept  itself 
away,  and  the  purple-necked  doves  cooed  and 
called  again  where  the  sunlight  glistened  through 
the  dripping  laurels,  and  these  two  were  hardly 
aware.  Then  suddenly  a  Bhutia  girl  with  a 
rose  behind  her  ear  came  and  stood  in  the 
door  of  the  cave  and  regarded  them.  She 
was  muscular  and  red-cheeked  and  stolid ;  she 
wore  many  strings  of  beads  as  well  as  the  rose 
behind  her  ear,  and  as  she  looked  she  compre- 
hended, with  a  slow  and  foolish  smile. 

"  It  is  her  tryst !  "  Rhoda  cried,  jumping  up. 
"  Let  us  leave  it  to  her." 

Then  they  went  home  through  a  world  of 
their  own,  which  the  piping  birds  and  the  wild 
roses  and  the  sun-decked  mosses  reflected  fitly. 
The  clouds  had  gone  to  Thibet ;  all  round  about, 
in  full  sunlight,  the  great  encompassing,  gleam- 
ing Snows  rose  up  and  spoke  of  eternity,  and 
made  a  horizon  not  too  solemn  and  supreme  for 
the  vision  of  their  happiness. 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 


275 


"  My  dearest  child,"  said  Mrs.  Daye  that 
night — she  had  come  late  to  her  daughter's 
room  with  her  hair  down — "  don't  think  I'm 
not  as  pleased  as  possible,  because  I  am.  I've 
always  had  the  greatest  admiration  for  Mr. 
Doyle,  and  you  couldn't  have  a  better — un- 
official— position  in  Calcutta.  But  I  must  warn 
you,  dear — I've  seen  such  misfortune  come  of  it, 
and  I  knew  I  shouldn't  sleep  if  I  didn't — before 
this  engagement  is  announced " 

"  I'll  go  to  church  in  a  cotton  blouse  and  a 
serge  skirt  this  time,  if  that's  what  you're  think- 
ing of,  mummie." 

"  There  !  I  was  sure  of  it !  Do  think  serious- 
ly, Rhoda,  of  the  injustice  to  poor  Mr.  Doyle, 
if  you're  merely  marrying  him  for  pique  !  " 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE  Honourable  Mr.  Ancram  found  himself 
gratified  by  Mrs.  Church's  refusal  to  see  him  in 
Calcutta.  It  filled  out  his  idea  of  her,  which 
was  a  delicate  one,  and  it  gave  him  a  pleasur- 
able suggestive  of  the  stimulus  which  he  should 
always  receive  from  her  in  future  toward  the 
alternative  which  was  most  noble  and  most  sat- 
isfying. Mr.  Ancram  had  the  clearest  percep- 
tion of  the  value  of  such  stimulus ;  but  the 
probability  that  he  was  likely  to  be  able  to 
put  it  permanently  at  his  disposal  could 
hardly  be  counted  chief  among  the  reasons 
which  made  him,  at  this  time,  so  exceedingly 
happy.  His  promotion  had  even  less  to  do 
with  it.  India  is  known  to  be  full  of  people 
who  would  rather  be  a  Chief  Commissioner 
than  Rudyard  Kipling  or  Saint  Michael,  but 
this  translation  had  been  in  the  straight  line 

276 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  277 

of  Mr.  Ancram's  intention  for  years  ;  it  offered 
him  no  fortuitous  joy,  and  if  it  made  a  basis 
for  the  more  refined  delight  which  had  en- 
tered his  experience,  that  is  as  much  as  it  can 
be  credited  with.  Life  had  hitherto  offered  him 
no  satisfaction  that  did  not  pale  beside  the  pros- 
pect of  possessing  Judith  Church.  He  gave 
dreamy  half-hours  to  the  realisation  of  how 
the  sordidness  of  existence  would  vanish  when 
he  should  regard  it  through  her  eyes,  of  how 
her  goodness  would  sweeten  the  world  to  him, 
and  her  gaiety  brighten  it,  and  her  beauty  ethe- 
realise  it.  He  tried  to  analyse  the  completeness 
of  their  fitness  for  each  other,  and  invariably 
gave  it  up  to  fall  into  a  little  trance  of  longing 
and  of  anticipation. 

He  could  not  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  John 
Church  for  dying — it  was  a  circumstance  upon 
which  he  congratulated  himself  frankly,  an  acci- 
dent by  which  he  was  likely  to  benefit  so  vastly 
that  he  could  indulge  in  no  pretence  of  regretting 
it  on  any  altruistic  ground.  It  was  so  decent  of 
Church  to  take  himself  out  of  the  way  that 
his  former  Chief  Secretary  experienced  a 


278  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

change  of  attitude  toward  him.  Ancram  still 
considered  him  an  ass,  but  hostility  had  faded 
out  of  the  opinion,  which,  when  he  mentioned 
it,  dwelt  rather  upon  that  animal's  power  of 
endurance  and  other  excellent  qualities.  An- 
cram felt  himself  distinctly  on  better  terms 
with  the  late  Lieutenant-Governor,  and  his  feel- 
ing was  accented  by  the  fact  that  John  Church 
died  in  time  to  avoid  the  necessity  for  a  more 
formal  resignation.  His  Chief  Secretary  felt 
personally  indebted  to  him  for  that,  on  ethical 
grounds. 

In  the  long,  suggestive,  caressing  letters 
which  reached  Judith  by  every  mail,  he  made  an 
appearance  of  respecting  her  fresh  widowhood 
that  was  really  clever,  considering  the  fervency 
which  he  contrived  to  imply.  As  the  weeks  went 
by,  however,  he  began  to  consider  this  attitude 
of  hers,  the  note  she  had  struck  in  going  six  thou- 
sand miles  away  without  seeing  him,  rather  an 
extravagant  gratification  of  conscience,  and  if  she 
had  been  nearer  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
his  tolerance  would  have  lasted.  But  she  was 
in  London  and  he  was  in  Assam,  which  made 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  27Q 

restraint  easier ;  and  he  was  able  always  to 
send  her  the  assurance  of  his  waiting  passion 
without  hurting  her  with  open  talk  of  the 
day  when  he  should  come  into  his  own. 
Judith,  seeing  that  his  pen  was  in  a  leash, 
watered  her  love  anew  with  the  thought  of  his 
innate  nobility,  and  shortened  the  time  that  lay 
between  them. 

In  spite  of  her  conscience,  which  was  a  good 
one,  there  were  times  when  Mrs.  Church  was 
shocked  by  the  realisation  that  she  was  only 
trying  to  believe  herself  unhappy.  In  spite  of 
other  things,  too,  of  a  more  material  sort. 
Misfortune  had  overtaken  the  family  at  Stone- 
borough  :  ill-health  had  compelled  her  father 
to  resign  the  pulpit  of  Beulah  Church,  and  to 
retire  upon  a  microscopic  stipend  from  the 
superannuation  fund.  There  was  a  boy  of 
fourteen,  much  like  his  sister,  who  wanted  to 
be  a  soldier,  and  did  not  want  to  wear  a 
dirty  apron  and  sell  the  currants  of  the  lead- 
ing member  of  his  father's  congregation.  For 
these  reasons  Judith's  three  hundred  a  year 
shrank  to  a  scanty  hundred  and  fifty.  The  boy 


280  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

went  to  Clifton,  and  she  to  an  attic  in  that 
south  side  of  Kensington  where  they  are  aston- 
ishingly cheap.  Here  she  established  herself, 
and  grew  familiar  with  the  devices  of  poverty. 
It  was  not  picturesque  Bohemian  poverty  ;  she 
had  little  ladylike  ideals  in  gloves  and  shoes 
that  she  pinched  herself  otherwise  to  attain, 
and  it  is  to  be  feared  that  she  preferred  look- 
ing shabby-genteel  with  eternal  limitations  to 
looking  disreputable  with  spasmodic  extrava- 
gances. But  neither  the  sordidness  of  her  life 
nor  the  discomfort  she  tried  to  conjure  out  of 
the  past  made  her  miserable.  Rather  she  ex- 
tracted a  solace  from  them — they  gave  her  a 
vague  feeling  of  expiation  ;  she  hugged  her  lit- 
tle miseries  for  their  purgatorial  qualities,  and 
felt,  though  she  never  put  it  into  a  definite 
thought,  that  they  made  a  sort  of  justification 
for  her  hope  of  heaven. 

Besides,  except  once  a  week,  on  Indian  mail 
day,  her  life  was  for  the  time  in  abeyance.  She 
had  a  curious  sense  occasionally,  in  some  sor- 
did situation  to  which  she  was  driven  for  the 
lack  of  five  shillings,  of  how  little  anything 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A    LADY.  28l 

mattered  during  this  little  colourless  period ; 
and  she  declined  kindly  invitations  from  old 
Anglo-Indian  acquaintances  in  more  expensive 
parts  of  Kensington  with  almost  an  ironical  ap- 
preciation of  their  inconsequence.  She  accepted 
existence  without  movement  or  charm  for  the 
time,  since  she  could  not  dispense  with  it  alto- 
gether. She  invented  little  monotonous  duties 
and  occupied  herself  with  then,  and  waited, 
always  with  the  knowledge  that  just  beyond  her 
dingy  horizon  lay  a  world,  her  old  world,  of  full 
life  and  vivid  colour  and  long  dramatic  days,  if 
she  chose  to  look. 

On  mail  days  she  did  look,  over  Ancram's 
luxurious  pages  with  soft  eyes  and  a  little  par- 
ticipating smile.  They  made  magic  carpets  for 
her — they  had  imaginative  touches.  They  took 
her  to  the  scent  of  the  food-stuff  in  the  chaffer- 
ing bazar  ;  she  saw  the  white  hot  sunlight  sharp- 
shadowed  by  dusty  palms,  and  the  people,  with 
their  gentle  ways  and  their  simplicity  of  guile, 
the  clanking  silver  anklets  of  the  coolie  women, 
the  black  kol  smudges  under  the  babies'  eye- 
lashes— the  dear  people!  She  remembered  how 


282  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

she  had  seen  the  oxen  treading  out  the  corn  in 
the  warm  leisure  of  that  country,  and  the  wom- 
en grinding  at  the  mill.  She  remembered  their 
simple  talk  ;  how  the  gardener  had  told  her  in 
his  own  tongue  that  the  flowers  ate  much  earth ; 
how  a  syce  had  once  handed  her  a  beautiful 
bazar-written  letter,  in  which  he  asked  for  more 
wages  because  he  could  not  afford  himself.  She 
remembered  the  jewelled  Rajahs,  and  the  ragged 
magicians,  and  the  coolies'  song  in  the  evening, 
and  the  home-trotting  little  oxen  painted  in  pink 
spots  in  honour  of  a  plaster  goddess,  and  realised 
how  she  loved  India.  She  realised  it  even  more 
completely,  perhaps,  when  November  came  and 
brought  fogs  which  were  always  dreary  in  that 
they  interfered  with  nothing  that  she  wanted  to 
do,  and  neuralgia  that  was  especially  hard  to 
bear  for  being  her  only  occupation.  The  winter 
dragged  itself  away.  Beside  Ancram's  letters 
and  her  joy  in  answering  them,  she  had  one 
experience  of  pleasure  keen  enough  to  make 
it  an  episode.  She  found  it  in  the  Athenian, 
which  she  picked  up  on  a  news-stall,  where  she 
had  dropped  into  the  class  of  customers  who 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND    A   LADY.  283 

glance  over  three  or  four  weeklies  and  buy  one 
or  two.  It  was  a  review,  a  review  of  length  and 
breadth  and  weight  and  density,  of  the  second 
volume  of  the  "  Modern  Influence  of  the  Vedic 
Books,"  by  Lewis  Ancram,  I.C.S.  She  bought 
the  paper  and  took  it  home,  and  all  that  day 
her  heart  beat  higher  with  her  woman's  am- 
bition for  the  man  she  loved,  sweetened  with 
the  knowledge  that  his  own  had  become  as 
nothing  to  the  man  who  loved  her. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

IT  was  a  foregone  conclusion  in  Calcutta  that 
the  name  of  the  Chief  Commissioner  of  Assam 
should  figure  prominently  in  the  Birthday  Hon- 
ours of  the  season.  On  the  24th  of  that  very 
hot  May  people  sat  in  their  verandahs  in  early 
morning  dishabille,  and  consumed  tea  and  toast 
and  plantains,  and  read  in  the  local  extras  that 
a  Knight  Commandership  of  the  Star  of  India 
had  fluttered  down  upon  the  head  of  Mr. 
Lewis  Ancram,  without  surprise.  Doubtless  the 
"  Modern  Influence  of  the  Vedic  Books  "  was  to 
be  reckoned  with  to  some  extent  in  the  decora- 
tive result,  but  the  general  public  gave  it  less  im- 
portance than  Sir  Walter  Besant,  for  example, 
would  be  disposed  to  do.  The  general  public 
reflected  rather  upon  the  Chief  Commissioner's 
conspicuous  usefulness  in  Assam,  especially  the 
dexterity  with  which  he  had  trapped  border 

284 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  285 

raids  upon  tea-plantations.  The  general  public 
remembered  how  often  it  had  seen  Mr.  Lewis 
Ancram's  name  in  the  newspapers,  and  in  what 
invariably  approved  connections.  So  the  men  in 
pyjamas  on  the  verandahs  languidly  regarded  the 
wide  flat  spreading  red-and-yellow  bouquets  of 
the  gold  mohur  trees  where  the  crows  were 
gasping  and  swearing  on  the  Maidan,  and  de- 
clared, with  unanimous  yawns,  that  Ancram  was 
"  just  the  fellow  to  get  it." 

The  Supreme  Government  at  Simla  was 
even  better  acquainted  with  Lewis  Ancram's 
achievements  and  potentialities  than  the  general 
public,  however.  There  had  been  occasions, 
when  Mr.  Ancram  was  a  modest  Chief  Secretary 
only,  upon  which  the  Supreme  Government  had 
cause  to  congratulate  itself  privately  as  to  Mr. 
Ancram's  extraordinary  adroitness  in  political 
moves  affecting  the  "  advanced  "  Bengali.  Since 
his  triumph  over  the  College  Grants  Notification 
the  advanced  Bengali  had  become  increasingly 
outrageous.  An  idea  in  this  connection  so  far 
emerged  from  official  representations  at  head- 
quarters as  to  become  almost  obvious,  as  to 


286  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

leave  no  alternative — which  is  a  very  remarkable 
thing  in  the  business  of  the  Government  of  India. 
It  was  to  the  effect  that  the  capacity  to  outwit 
the  Bengali  should  be  the  single  indispensable 
qualification  of  the  next  Lieutenant-Governor  of 
Bengal. 

"  No  merely  straightforward  chap  will  do," 
said  Lord  Scansleigh,  with  a  sigh,  "  however  able 
he  may  be.  Of  course,"  he  added,  "  I  don't  mean 
to  say  that  we  want  a  crooked  fellow,  but  our 
man  must  understand  crookedness  and  be  equal 
to  it.  That,  poor  Church  never  was." 

The  Viceroy  delivered  himself  thus  because 
Sir  Griffiths  Spence's  retirement  was  imminent, 
and  he  had  his  choice  for  Bengal  to  make  over 
again.  Simplicity  and  directness  apparently  dis- 
qualified a  number  of  gentleman  of  seniority  and 
distinction,  for  ten  days  later  it  was  announced 
that  the  appointment  had  fallen  to  Sir  Lewis 
Ancram,  K.C.S.I.  Again  the  little  world  of 
Calcutta  declined  to  be  surprised :  nothing,  ap- 
parently, exceeded  the  popular  ambition  for  the 
Chief  Commissioner  of  Assam.  Hawkins,  of  the 
Board  of  Revenue,  was  commiserated  for  a  day 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  287 

or  two,  but  it  was  very  generally  admitted  that 
men  like  Hawkins  of  the  Board  of  Revenue, 
solid,  unpretentious  fellows  like  that,  were  ex- 
tremely apt,  somehow,  to  be  overlooked.  People 
said  generally  that  Scansleigh  had  done  the  right 
thing — that  Ancram  would  know  how  to  manage 
the  natives.  It  was  perceived  that  the  new  King 
of  Bengal  would  bring  a  certain  picturesqueness 
to  the  sceptre,  he  was  so  comparatively  young 
and  so  superlatively  clever.  In  view  of  this  the 
feelings  of  Hawkins  of  the  Board  of  Revenue 
were  lost  sight  of.  And  nothing  could  have 
been  more  signal  than  the  approbation  of  the 
native  newspapers.  Mohendra  Lai  Chucker- 
butty,  in  the  Bengal  Free  Press,  wept  tears  of  joy 
in  leading  articles  every  day  for  a  week.  "  Ben- 
gal," said  Mohendra,  editorially,  "  has  been  given 
a  man  after  her  own  heart."  By  which  Sir 
Lewis  Ancram  was  ungrateful  enough  to  be 
annoyed. 

Judith  grew  very  white  over  the  letter  which 
brought  her  the  news,  remembering  many 
things.  It  was  a  careful  letter,  but  there  was  a 
throb  of  triumph  in  it — a  suggestion,  just  per- 


288  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

ceptible,  of  the  dramatic  value  of  the  situation. 
She  told  herself  that  this  was  inevitable  and 
natural,  just  as  inevitable  and  natural  as  all  the 
rest ;  but  at  the  same  time  she  felt  that  her  philos- 
ophy was  not  quite  equal  to  the  remarkable  com- 
pleteness of  Ancram's  succession.  With  all  her 
pride  in  him,  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  would  in- 
finitely have  preferred  to  share  some  degradation 
with  him  rather  than  this ;  she  would  have  liked 
the  taste  of  any  bitterness  of  his  misfortune 
better  than  this  perpetual  savour  of  his  usur- 
pation. It  was  a  mere  phase  of  feeling,  which 
presently  she  put  aside,  but  for  the  moment  her 
mind  dwelt  with  curious  insistence  upon  one  or 
two  little  pictorial  memories  of  the  other  master 
of  Belvedere,  while  tears  stood  in  her  eyes  and  a 
foolish  resentment  at  this  fortunate  turn  of 
destiny  tugged  at  her  heart-strings.  In  a  little 
while  she  found  herself  able  to  rejoice  for 
Ancram  with  sincerity,  but  all  day  she  involun- 
tarily recurred,  with  deep,  gentle  irritation,  to 
the  association  of  the  living  idea  and  the  dead 
one. 

Perhaps   the   liveliest   pang   inflicted   by   Sir 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  289 

Lewis  Ancram's  appointment  was  experienced 
by  Mrs.  Daye.  Mrs.  Daye  confided  to  her  hus- 
band that  she  never  saw  the  Belvedere  carriage, 
with  its  guard  of  Bengal  cavalry  trotting  behind, 
without  thinking  that  if  things  had  turned  out 
differently  she  might  be  sitting  in  it,  with  His 
Honour  her  son-in-law.  From  which  the  con- 
stancy and  keenness  of  Mrs.  Daye's  regrets  may 
be  in  a  measure  inferred.  She  said  to  privileged 
intimate  friends  that  she  knew  she  was  a  silly, 
worldly  thing,  but  really  it  did  bring  out 
one's  silliness  and  worldliness  to  have  one's 
daughter  jilt  a  Lieutenant-Governor,  in  a  way 
that  nobody  could  understand  whose  daughter 
hadn't  done  it.  Mrs.  Daye  took  what  comfort 
she  could  out  of  the  fact  that  this  limitation  ex- 
cluded every  woman  she  knew.  She  would  add, 
with  her  brow  raised  in  three  little  wrinkles  of 
deprecation,  that  of  course  they  were  immensely 
pleased  with  Rhoda's  ultimate  choice  :  Mr.  Doyle 
was  a  dear,  sweet  man,  but  she,  Mrs.  Daye,  could 
not  help  having  a  sort  of  sisterly  regard  for  him, 
which  towards  one's  son-in-law  was  ridiculous. 
He  certainly  had  charming  manners — the  very 


290  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

man  to  appreciate  a  cup  of  tea  and  one's  poor 
little  efforts  at  conversation — if  he  didn't  happen 
to  be  married  to  one's  daughter.  It  was  ludi- 
crously impossible  to  have  a  seriously  enjoyable 
tete-a-tete  with  a  man  who  was  married  to  one's 
daughter ! 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

CALCUTTA,  when  the  Doyles  came  down  from 
Darjiling,  chased  by  the  early  rains,  was  pre- 
pared to  find  the  marriage  ridiculous.  Calcutta 
counted  on  its  fingers  the  years  that  lay  between 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Doyle,  and  mentioned,  as  a  condon- 
ing fact,  that  Philip  Doyle's  chances  for  the  next 
High  Court  Judgeship  were  very  good  indeed. 
Following  up  this  line  of  fancy,  Calcutta  pictured 
a  matron  growing  younger  and  younger  and  a 
dignitary  of  the  Bench  growing  older  and  older, 
added  the  usual  accessories  of  jewels  and  balls 
and  Hill  captains  and  the  private  entrte,  and 
figured  out  the  net  result,  which  was  regrettably 
vulgar  and  even  more  regrettably  common.  It 
is  perhaps  due  to  Calcutta  rather  than  to  the 
Doyles  to  say  that  six  weeks  after  their  arrival 
these  prophecies  had  been  forgotten  and  people 
went  about  calling  it  an  ideal  match.  One  or 

291 


292  HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

two  ladies  went  so  far  as  to  declare  that  Rhoda 
Daye  had  become  a  great  deal  more  tolerable 
since  her  marriage ;  her  husband  was  so  much 
cleverer  than  she  was,  and  that  was  what  she 
needed,  you  know.  In  which  statement  might 
occasionally  be  discerned  a  gleam  of  satisfac- 
tion. 

It  shortly  became  an  item  of  gossip  that  very 
few  engagements  were  permitted  to  interfere 
with  Mrs.  Philip  Doyle's  habit  of  driving  to  her 
husband's  office  to  pick  him  up  at  five  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  and  that  very  few  clients  were 
permitted  to  keep  him  there  after  she  had  ar- 
rived. People  smiled  in  indulgent  comment  on 
it,  as  the  slender,  light,  tasteful  figure  in  the 
cabriolet  drove  among  the  thronging  carriages  in 
the  Red  Road  towards  Old  Post-Office  Street, 
and  looked  again,  with  that  paramount  interest 
in  individuals  which  is  almost  the  only  one  where 
Britons  congregate  in  exile.  Mrs.  Doyle,  in  the 
picturesque  exercise  of  the  domestic  virtues,  was 
generally  conceded  to  be  even  more  piquant  than 
Miss  Daye  in  the  temporary  possession  of  a  Chief 
Secretary. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  on  one  special  Wednes- 
day afternoon  she  was  noted  to  look  absent  and 
a  trifle  grave,  as  the  Waler  made  his  own  pace  to 
bring  his  master.  There  was  no  reason  for  this 
in  particular,  except  that  His  Honour  the  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor  was  leaving  for  England  by  the 
mail  train  for  Bombay  that  evening.  Perhaps 
this  in  itself  would  hardly  have  sufficed  to  make 
Mrs.  Doyle  meditative,  but  there  had  been  a 
great  clamour  of  inquiry  and  suggestion  as  to 
why  Sir  Lewis  Ancram  was  straining  a  point  to  ob- 
tain three  months'  leave  under  no  apparent  emer- 
gency :  people  said  he  had  never  looked  better — 
and  Mrs.  Doyle  believed  she  knew  precisely 
why.  The  little  cloud  of  her  secret  knowledge 
was  before  her  eyes  as  the  crows  pecked  hoarse- 
ly at  the  street  offal  under  the  Waler's  deliberate 
feet,  and  she  was  somewhat  impatient  at  being 
burdened  with  any  acquaintance  with  Sir  Lewis 
Ancram's  private  intentions.  Also  she  remem- 
bered her  liking  for  the  woman  he  was  going 
home  to  marry  ;  and,  measuring  in  fancy  Judith 
Church's  capacity  for  happiness,  she  came  to  the 
belief  that  it  was  likely  to  be  meagrely  filled.  It 


294  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A    LADY. 

was  the  overflowing  measure  of  her  own,  per- 
haps, that  gave  its  liveliness  to  her  very  real  pang 
of  regret.  She  knew  Lewis  Ancram  so  much 
better  than  Mrs.  Church  did,  she  assured  herself ; 
was  it  not  proof  enough,  that  the  other  woman 
loved  him  while  she  (Rhoda)  bowed  to  him  ?  As 
at  that  moment,  when  he  passed  her  on  horse- 
back, looking  young  and  vigorous  and  elate. 
Rhoda  fancied  a  certain  significance  in  his  smile ; 
it  spoke  of  good-fellowship  and  the  prospect  of 
an  equality  of  bliss  and  the  general  expediency  of 
things  as  they  were  rather  than  as  they  might 
have  been.  She  coloured  hotly  under  it,  and 
gathered  up  the  reins  and  astonished  the  Waler 
with  the  whip. 

As  she  turned  into  Old  Post-Office  Street,  a 
flanking  battalion  of  the  rains — riding  up  dark 
and  thunderous  behind  the  red-brick  turrets 
of  the  High  Court — whipped  down  upon  the 
Maidan,  and  drove  her,  glad  of  a  refuge,  up  the 
dingy  stairs  to  her  husband's  office.  Her  custom 
was  to  sit  in  the  cabriolet  and  despatch  the  syce 
with  a  message.  The  syce  would  deliver  it  in 
his  own  tongue — "  The  memsahib  sends  a  salu- 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  295 

tation " — and  Doyle  would  presently  appear. 
But  to-day  it  was  raining  and  there  was  no 
alternative. 

A  little  flutter  of  consideration  greeted  her 
entrance.  Two  or  three  native  clerks  shuffled  to 
their  feet  and  salaamed,  and  one  ran  to  open  the 
door  into  Doyle's  private  room  for  her.  Her 
husband  sat  writing  against  time  at  a  large  desk 
littered  thick  with  papers.  At  another  table  a 
native  youth  in  white  cotton  draperies  sat  mak- 
ing quill  pens,  with  absorbed  precision.  The 
punkah  swung  a  slow  discoloured  petticoat 
above  them  both.  The  tall  wide  windows  were 
open.  Through  them  little  damp  gusts  came 
in  and  lifted  the  papers  about  the  room ; 
and  beyond  them  the  grey  rain  slanted  down, 
and  sobered  the  vivid  green  of  everything, 
and  turned  the  tilted  palms  into  the  like, 
ness  of  draggled  plumes  waving  against  the 
sky. 

"  You  have  just  escaped  the  shower,"  said 
Doyle,  looking  up  with  quick  pleasure  at  her 
step.  "  I'll  be  another  twenty  minutes,  I'm  afraid. 
And  I  have  nothing  for  you  to  play  with,"  he 


296  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

added,  glancing  round  the  dusty  room — "  not 
even  a  novel.  You  must  just  sit  down  and  be 
good." 

"Mail  letters?"  asked  Rhoda,  with  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

The  clerk  was  looking  another  way,  and  she 
dropped  a  foolish,  quick  little  kiss  on  the  top  of 
his  head. 

"  Yes.  It's  this  business  of  the  memorial  to 
Church.  I've  got  the  newspaper  reports  of  the 
unveiling  together,  and  the  Committee  have 
drafted  a  formal  letter  to  Mrs.  Church,  and 
there's  a  good  deal  of  private  correspondence 
— letters  from  big  natives  sending  subscriptions, 
and  all  that — that  I  thought  she  would  like  to 
see.  As  Secretary  to  the  Committee,  it  of  course 
devolves  upon  me  to  forward  everything.  And 
at  this  moment,"  Doyle  went  on,  glancing  rue- 
fully at  the  page  under  his  hand,  "  I  am  trying 
to  write  to  her  privately,  poor  thing." 

Rhoda  glanced  down  at  the  letter.  "  I  know 
you  will  be  glad  to  have  these  testimonials, 
which  are  as  sincere  as  they  are  spontaneous,  to 
the  unique  position  Church  held  in  the  regard  of 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  2O7 

many  distinguished  people,"  she  read  deliberate, 
ly,  aloud. 

"  Do  you  think  that  is  the  right  kind  of  thing 
to  say?  It  strikes  me  as  rather  formal.  But 
one  is  so  terribly  afraid  of  hurting  her  by  some 
stupidity." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  so  at  all,  Philip.  I  mean 
— it  is  quite  the  proper  thing,  I  think.  After  all, 
it's — it's  more  than  a  year  ago,  you  know." 

"  The  wives  of  men  like  Church  remember 
them  longer  than  that,  I  fancy.  But  if  you  will 
be  pleased  to  sit  down,  Mrs.  Doyle,  I'll  finish  it 
in  some  sort  of  decency  and  get  it  off." 

Rhoda  sat  down  and  crossed  her  feet  and 
looked  into  dusty  vacancy.  The  recollection  of 
Ancram's  expression  as  he  passed  her  in  the  road 
came  back  to  her,  and  as  she  reflected  that  the 
ship  which  carried  him  to  Judith  Church  would 
also  take  her  the  balm  respectfully  prepared  by 
the  Committee,  her  sense  of  humour  curved  her 
lips  in  an  ironical  smile.  The  grotesqueness  of 
the  thing  made  it  seem  less  serious,  and  she 
found  quite  five  minutes'  interested  occupation 
in  considering  it.  Then  she  regarded  the  baboo 


298  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

making  pens,  and  picked  up  a  "  Digest "  and  put 
it  down  again,  and  turned  over  the  leaves  of  a 
tome  on  the  "  Hindu  Law  of  Inheritance,"  and 
yawned,  and  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  ob- 
served that  it  had  stopped  raining. 

"  Philip,  aren't  you  nearly  done  ?  Remember 
me  affectionately  to  Mrs.  Church — no,  perhaps 
you'd  better  not,  either." 

Doyle  was  knitting  his  brows  over  a  final 
sentiment,  and  did  not  reply. 

"  Philip,  is  that  one  of  your  old  coats  hanging 
on  the  nail?  Is  it  old  enough  to  give  away  ?  I 
want  an  old  coat  for  the  syce  to  sleep  in :  he  had 
fever  yesterday." 

Mrs.  Doyle  went  over  to  the  object  of 
her  inquiries,  took  it  down,  and  daintily 
shook  it. 

"Philip !  Pay  some  attention  to  me.  May  I 
have  this  coat?  There's  nothing  in  the  pockets 
— nothing  but  an  old  letter  and  a  newspaper. 
Oh!" 

Her  husband  looked  up  at  last,  noting  a 
change  in  the  tone  of  her  exclamation.  She 
stood  looking  in  an  embarrassed  way  at  the 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY.  299 

address  on  the  envelope  she  held.  It  was  in 
Ancram's  handwriting. 

"  What  letter  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  handed  it  to  him,  and  at  the  sight  of  it  he 
frowned  a  little. 

"  Is  the  newspaper   the   Bengal  Free  Press  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  glancing  at  it.  "  And  it's 
marked  in  one  or  two  places  with  red  pencil." 

"  Then  read  them  both,"  Doyle  replied. 
"  They  don't  tell  a  very  pretty  story,  but  it  may 
amuse  you.  I  thought  I  had  destroyed  them 
long  ago.  I  can't  have  worn  that  coat  since  I 
left  Florence." 

Rhoda  sat  down,  with  a  beating  curiosity,  and 
applied  herself  to  understand  the  story  that  was 
not  very  pretty.  It  sometimes  annoyed  her  that 
she  could  not  resist  her  interest  in  things  that 
concerned  Ancram,  especially  things  that  ex- 
emplified  him.  She  brought  her  acutest  intel- 
ligence to  bear  upon  the  exposition  of  the  letter 
and  the  newspaper;  but  it  was  very  plain  and 
simple,  especially  where  it  was  underscored  in 
red  pencil,  and  she  comprehended  it  at  once. 
She  sat  thinking  of  it,  with  bright  eyes,  fitting  it 

20 


300  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

into  relation  with  what  she  had  known  and 
guessed  before,  perhaps  unconsciously  pluming 
herself  a  little  upon  her  penetration,  and,  it 
must  be  confessed,  feeling  a  keen  thrill  of  un- 
regretting  amusement  at  Ancram's  conviction. 
Then  suddenly,  with  a  kind  of  mental  gasp,  she 
remembered  Judith  Church. 

"  Ah ! "  she  said  to  herself,  and  her  lips  al- 
most moved.  "  What  a  complication !  "  And 
then  darted  up  from  some  depth  of  her  moral 
consciousness  the  thought,  "  She  ought  to  know, 
and  I  ought  to  tell  her." 

She  tried  to  look  calmly  at  the  situation,  and 
analyse  the  character  of  her  responsibility.  She 
sought  for  its  pros  and  cons ;  she  made  an  effort 
to  range  them  and  to  balance  them.  But,  in 
spite  of  herself,  her  mind  rejected  everything 
save  the  memory  of  the  words  she  had  over- 
heard one  soft  spring  night  on  the  verandah  at 
Government  House : 

"  You  ask  me  if  I  am  not  to  you  what  I  ought  to 
be  to  my  husband,  who  is  a  good  man,  and  who  loves 
me  and  trusts  you" 

"And   trusts   you  !    and   trusts  you !  "     Re- 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  30 1 

membering  the  way  her  own  blood  quickened 
when  she  heard  Judith  Church  say  that,  Rhoda 
made  a  spiritual  bound  towards  the  conviction 
that  she  could  not  shirk  opening  such  deplorably 
blind  eyes  and  respect  herself  in  future.  Then 
her  memory  insisted  again,  and  she  heard  Judith 
say,  with  an  inflection  that  precluded  all  mistake, 
all  self-delusion,  all  change: 

"  But  you  ask  me  if  I  have  come  to  love  you,  and 
perhaps  in  a  way  you  have  a  right  to  know ;  and 
the  truth  is  better,  as  you  say.  And  I  answer  you 
that  I  have.  I  answer  you,  Yes,  it  is  true  ;  and 
I  know  it  will  always  be  true." 

Did  that  make  no  difference  ?  And  was  there 
not  infinitely  too  much  involved  for  any  such  cas- 
ual, rough-handed  interference  as  hers  would  be  ? 

At  that  moment  she  saw  that  her  husband 
was  putting  on  his  hat.  His  letter  to  Mrs. 
Church  lay  addressed  upon  the  desk,  the  papers 
that  were  to  accompany  scattered  about  it,  and 
Doyle  was  directing  the  clerk  with  regard  to 
them. 

"You  will  put  all  these  in  a  strong  cover, 
Luteef,"  said  he,  "  and  address  it  as  I  have  ad- 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

dressed  that  letter.  I  would  like  you  to  take 
them  to  the  General  Post  Office  yourself,  and  see 
that  they  don't  go  under-stamped." 

"  Yessir.  All  thee  papers,  sir  ?  And  I  am  to 
send  by  letter-post,  sir?" 

"Yes,  certainly.  Well,  Rhoda?  That  was  a 
clever  bit  of  trickery,  wasn't  it  ?  I  heard  after- 
wards that  the  article  was  quoted  in  the  House, 
and  did  Church  a  lot  of  damage." 

Doyle  spoke  with  the  boldness  of  embar- 
rassment. These  two  were  not  in  the  habit  of 
discussing  Ancram  ;  they  tolerated  him  occasion- 
ally as  an  object,  but  never  as  a  subject.  Al- 
ready he  regretted  the  impulse  that  put  her  in 
possession  of  these  facts.  It  seemed  to  his 
sensitiveness  like  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of 
a  man  when  he  was  down,  which,  considering  to 
what  Lewis  Ancram  had  risen,  was  a  foolish  and 
baseless  scruple.  Rhoda  looked  at  her  husband, 
and  hesitated.  For  an  instant  she  played  with 
the  temptation  to  tell  him  all  she  knew,  decid- 
ing, at  the  end  of  the  instant,  that  it  would  entail 
too  much.  Even  a  reference  to  that  time  had 
come  to  cost  her  a  good  deal. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  303 

"  I  am  somehow  not  surprised,"  she  said, 
looking  down  at  the  letter  and  paper  in  her  hand. 
"  But — I  think  it's  a  pity  Mrs.  Church  doesn't 
know." 

"  Poor  dear  lady !  why  should  she  ?  I  am 
glad  she  is  spared  that  unnecessary  pang.  We 
should  all  be  allowed  to  think  as  well  of  the 
world  as  we  can,  my  wife.  Come ;  in  twenty 
minutes  it  will  be  dark." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  his  wife  asked  doubt- 
fully. But  she  threw  the  letter  and  the  news- 
paper upon  the  desk.  She  would  shirk  it ;  as  a 
duty  it  was  not  plain  enough. 

"  Then  you  ought  to  burn  those,  Philip,"  she 
said,  as  they  went  downstairs  together.  "  They 
wouldn't  make  creditable  additions  to  the  rec- 
ords of  the  India  Office." 

"  I  will,"  replied  her  husband.  "  I  don't 
know  why  I  didn't  long  ago.  How  deliciously 
fresh  it  is  after  the  rain!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THERE  was  a  florist's  near  by — in  London 
there  always  is  a  florist's  near  by — and  Judith 
stood  in  the  little  place,  among  the  fanciful  straw 
baskets  and  the  wire  frames  and  the  tin  boxes  of 
cut  flowers  and  the  damp  pots  of  blooming  ones, 
and  made  her  choice.  In  her  slenderness  and  her 
gladness  she  herself  had  somewhat  the  poise  of  a 
flower,  and  the  delicate  flush  of  her  face,  with  its 
new  springing  secret  of  life,  did  more  to  suggest 
one — a  flower  just  opened  to  the  summer  and 
the  sun. 

She  picked  out  some  that  were  growing  in 
country  lanes  then — it  was  the  middle  of  July 
— poppies  and  cornbottles  and  big  brown-hearted 
daisies.  They  seemed  to  her  to  speak  in  a  simple 
way  of  joy.  Then  she  added  a  pot  of  ferns  and 
some  clustering  growing  azaleas,  pink  and  white 
and  very  lovely.  She  paid  the  florist's  wife  ten 

804 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  3Or 

shillings,  and  took  them  all  with  her  in  a  cab. 
This  was  not  a  day  for  economies.  She  drove 
back  to  her  rooms,  the  azaleas  beside  her  on  the 
seat  making-  a  picture  of  her  that  people  turned 
to  look  at.  In  her  hand  she  carried  a  folded 
brown  envelope.  On  the  form  inside  it  was 
written,  in  the  generically  inexpressive  charac- 
ters of  the  Telegraph  Department,  "  Arrive  Lon- 
don 2. jo.  Will  be  with  you  at  five.  Ancram." 

It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  but  she 
felt  that  the  day  would  be  too  short  for  all 
there  was  to  do.  There  should  be  nothing  sor- 
did in  her  greeting,  nothing  to  make  him  re- 
member that  she  was  poor.  Her  attic  should 
be  swept  and  garnished  :  women  think  of  these 
little  things.  She  had  also  with  her  in  the  cab 
a  pair  of  dainty  Liberty  muslin  curtains  to  keep 
out  the  roof  and  the  chimneys,  and  a  Japanese 
tea-set,  and  tea  of  a  kind  she  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  drinking.  She  had  only  stopped  buy- 
ing pretty  fresh  decorative  things  when  it  oc- 
curred to  her  that  she  must  keep  enough 
money  to  pay  the  cabman.  As  she  hung  the 
curtains,  and  put  the  ferns  on  the  window- 


306  HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

seat  and  the  azaleas  in  the  corners,  and  the 
plump,  delicate-coloured  silk  cushions  in  the 
angles  of  her  small  hard  sofa,  her  old  love  of 
soft  luxurious  things  stirred  within  her.  In- 
stinctively she  put  her  poverty  away  with 
impatience  and  contempt.  What  in  another 
woman  might  have  been  a  calculating  thought 
came  to  her  as  a  hardly  acknowledged  sense 
of  relief  and  repose.  There  would  be  no  more 
of  that  ! 

A  knock  at  the  door  sent  the  blood  to  her 
heart,  and  her  hand  to  her  dusty  hair,  before 
she  remembered  how  impossible  it  was  that 
this  should  be  any  but  an  unimportant  knock. 
Yet  she  opened  the  door  with  a  thrill — it 
seemed  that  such  a  day  could  have  no  trivial 
incidents.  When  she  saw  that  it  was  the 
housemaid  with  the  mail,  the  Indian  mail,  she 
took  it  with  a  little  smile  of  indifference  and 
satisfaction.  It  was  no  longer  the  master  of 
her  delight. 

She  put  it  all  aside  while  she  adjusted  the 
folds  of  the  curtains  and  took  the  step-ladder 
out  of  the  room.  Then  she  read  Philip  Doyle's 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

letter.  She  read  it,  and  when  she  had 
finished  she  looked  gravely,  coldly,  at  the 
packet  that  came  with  it,  carefully  addressed 
in  the  round  accurate  hand  of  the  clerk  who 
made  quill  pens  in  Doyle's  office.  She  was 
conscious  of  an  unkindness  in  this  chance ;  it 
might  so  well  have  fallen  last  week  or  next. 
There  was  no  ignoring  it — it  was  there,  it  had 
been  delivered  to  her,  it  seemed  almost  as 
urgent  a  demand  upon  her  time  and  thought 
and  interest  as  if  John  Church  himself  had 
put  it  into  her  hand.  With  an  involuntary 
movement  she  pushed  the  packet  aside  and 
looked  round  the  room.  There  were  still  sev- 
eral little  things  to  do.  She  got  up  to  go 
about  them ;  but  she  moved  slowly,  and  the 
glow  had  gone  out  of  her  face,  leaving  her 
eyes  shadowed  as  they  were  on  other  days. 
She  made  the  cornbottles  and  the  daisies  up 
into  little  bouquets,  but  she  let  her  hands  drop 
into  her  lap  more  than  once,  and  thought 
about  other  things. 

Suddenly,  with  a  quick  movement,  she  went 
over  to  where   the   packet   lay  and  took  it  up. 


308  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

It  was  as  if  she  turned  her  back  upon  some- 
thing ;  she  had  a  resolute  look.  As  she  broke 
the  wax  and  cut  the  strings,  any  one  might 
have  recognised  that  she  confronted  herself 
with  a  duty  which  she  did  not  mean  to  post- 
pone. It  would  have  been  easy  to  guess  her 
unworded  feeling — that,  however  differently  her 
heart  might  insist,  she  could  not  slight  John 
Church.  This  was  a  sensitive  and  a  just 
woman. 

She  opened  letter  after  letter,  reading  slowly 
and  carefully.  Every  word  had  its  due,  every 
sentence  spoke  to  her.  Gradually  there  came 
round  her  lips  the  look  they  wore  when  she 
knelt  upon  her  hassock  in  St.  Luke's  round  the 
corner,  and  repeated,  with  bent  head, 

"  But  Thou,  O  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us,  miserable 

offenders : 

Spare  Thou    them,  O    Lord,   which    confess  their 
faults." 

It  seemed  to  her  that  in  not  having  loved  John 
Church  while  he  lived  nor  mourned  him  in  sack- 
cloth when  he  was  dead  she  had  sinned  indeed. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  300 

She  was  in  the  midst  of  preparations  that  were 
almost  bridal,  yet  it  is  quite  true  that  for  this 
man  whose  death  had  wrought  her  deliverance 
and  her  joy,  her  eyes  were  full  of  a  tender, 
reverent  regret.  Presently  she  came  upon  a 
letter  which  she  put  aside,  with  a  pang,  to  be 
read  last  of  all.  It  was  like  Ancram,  she 
thought,  to  have  borne  witness  to  her  hus- 
band's worth — he  could  never  have  guessed 
that  his  letter  would  hurt  her  a  little  one 
day.  She  noticed  that  it  was  fastened  togeth- 
er with  a  newspaper,  by  a  narrow  rubber 
circlet,  and  that  the  newspaper  was  marked  in 
red  pencil.  She  remembered  Ancram's  turn 
for  journalism — he  had  acknowledged  many  a 
clever  article  to  her — and  divined  that  this  was 
some  tribute  from  his  pen.  The  idea  gave  her 
a  realising  sense  that  her  lover  shared  her  pen- 
ance and  was  vaguely  comforting. 

She  went  through  all  the  rest,  as  I  have 
said,  conscientiously,  seriously,  and  with  a 
troubled  heart.  Philip  Doyle  had  not  been 
mistaken  in  saying  that  they  were  sincere,  and 
spontaneous.  The  tragedy  of  Church's  death 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A  LADY. 

had  brought  out  his  motives  in  high  relief ; 
it  was  not  likely  he  could  ever  have  lived  to 
be  so  appreciated.  These  were  impressions  of 
him  struck  off  as  it  were  in  a  white  heat  of 
feeling.  His  widow  sat  for  a  moment  silent 
before  the  revelation  they  made  of  him,  even 
to  her. 

Then,  to  leave  nothing  undone,  Judith  opened 
Ancram's  letter.  Her  startled  eyes  went 
through  it  once  without  comprehending  a  line 
of  its  sequence,  though  here  and  there  words 
struck  her  in  the  face  and  made  it  burn.  She 
put  her  hand  to  her  head  to  steady  herself ; 
she  felt  giddy,  and  sickeningly  unable  to  com- 
prehend. She  fastened  her  gaze  upon  the 
page,  seeing  nothing,  while  her  brain  worked 
automatically  about  the  fact  that  she  was  the 
victim  of  some  terribly  untoward  circumstance 
— what  and  why  it  refused  to  discover  for  her. 
Presently  things  grew  simpler  and  clearer ;  she 
realised  the  direction  from  which  the  blow  had 
come.  Her  power  to  reason,  to  consider,  to 
compare,  came  back  to  her ;  and  she  caught 
up  her  misfortune  eagerly,  to  minimise  it.  The 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY.  31 1 

lines  of  Ancram's  hostility  and  contempt  traced 
themselves  again  upon  her  mind,  and  this  time 
it  quivered  under  their  full  significance. 
"  Happily  for  Bengal,"  she  read,  "  a  fool  is 
invariably  dealt  with  according  to  his  folly." 
Then  she  knew  that  no  mollifying  process  of 
reasoning  could  alter  the  fact  which  she  had 
to  face. 

Her  mind  grew  acute  in  its  pain.  She  began 
to  make  deductions,  she  looked  at  the  date. 
The  corroboration  of  the  newspaper  flashed 
upon  her  instantly,  and  with  it  came  a  keen 
longing  to  tell  her  husband  who  had  written 
that  article — he  had  wondered  so  often  and  so 
painfully.  All  at  once  she  found  herself  fram- 
ing a  charge. 

A  clock  struck  somewhere,  and  as  if  the 
sound  summoned  her  she  got  up  from  her  seat 
and  opened  a  little  lacquered  box  that  stood 
upon  the  mantel.  It  contained  letters  chiefly, 
but  from  among  its  few  photographs  she  drew 
one  of  her  husband.  With  this  in  her  hand 
she  went  into  her  bedroom  and  shut  the  door 
and  locked  it. 


312  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

When  the  maid  brought  Sir  Lewis  Ancram's 
card  up  at  five  o'clock  she  found  the  door  open. 
Mrs.  Church  was  fitting  a  photograph  into  a 
little  frame.  She  looked  thoughtful,  but  charm- 
ing ;  and  she  said  so  unhesitatingly,  "  Bring 
the  gentleman  up,  Hetty,"  that  Hetty,  noticing 
the  curtains  and  the  cushions  in  Mrs.  Church's 
sitting-room,  brought  the  gentleman  up  with  a 
smile. 

At  his  step  upon  the  stair  her  eyes  dilated, 
she  took  a  long  breath  and  pulled  herself  to- 
gether, her  hand  tightening  on  the  corner  of 
the  table.  He  came  in  quickly  and  stood  be- 
fore her  silent ;  he  seemed  to  insist  upon  his 
presence  and  on  his  outstretched  hands.  His 
face  was  almost  open  and  expansive  in  its 
achieved  happiness ;  one  would  have  said  he 
was  a  fellow-being  and  not  a  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor.  It  looked  as  if  to  him  the  moment 
were  emotional,  but  Mrs.  Church  almost  im- 
mediately deprived  it  of  that  character.  She 
gave  him  the  right  hand  of  ordinary  inter- 
course and  an  agreeable  smile. 

"  You  are  looking  surprisingly  well,"  she  said. 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A  LADY. 

If  this  struck  Ancram  as  inadequate  he  hesi- 
tated about  saying  so.  The  words  upon  his 
own  lips  were  "  My  God !  how  glad  I  am 
to  see  you  ! "  but  he  did  not  permit  these 
to  escape  him  either.  Her  friendliness  was 
too  cheerful  to  chili  him,  but  he  put  his 
eyeglass  into  his  eye,  which  he  generally 
did  when  he  wanted  to  reflect,  behind  a 
pause. 

"  And  you  are  just  the  same,"  he  said.  "  A 
little  more  colour,  perhaps." 

"  I  am  not  really,  you  know,"  she  returned, 
slipping  her  hand  quickly  out  of  his.  "  Since 
I  saw  you  I  am  older — and  wiser.  Nearly 
two  years  older  and  wiser." 

The  smile  which  he  sent  into  her  eyes  was 
a  visible  effort  to  bring  himself  nearer  to 
her. 

"  Where  have  you  found  so  much  instruc- 
tion ? "  he  asked,  with  tender  banter. 

Her  laugh  accepted  the  banter  and  ignored 
its  quality.  "  In  '  The  Modern  Influence  of 
the  Vedic  Books,'  among  other  places,"  she 
said,  and  rang  the  bell.  "  Tea,  Hetty." 


314  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

"  I  must  be  allowed  to  congratulate  you  upon 
that,"  she  went  on  pleasantly.  "  All  the  wise 
people  are  talking  about  it,  aren't  they  ?  And 
upon  the  rest  of  your  achievements.  They 
have  been  very  remarkable." 

"  They  are  very  incomplete,"  he  hinted  ; 
"  but  I  am  glad  you  are  disposed  to  be  kind 
about  them." 

They  had  dropped  into  chairs  at  the  usual 
conversational  distance,  and  he  sat  regarding 
her  with  a  look  which  almost  confessed  that 
he  did  not  understand. 

"  I  suppose  you  had  an  execrable  passage," 
Judith  volunteered,  with  sociable  emphasis.  "  I 
can  imagine  what  it  must  have  been,  as  far  as 
Aden,  with  the  monsoon  well  on." 

"  Execrable,"  he  repeated.  He  had  come  to 
a  conclusion.  It  was  part  of  her  moral  con- 
ception of  their  situation  that  he  should  begin 
his  love-making  over  again.  She  would  not 
tolerate  their  picking  it  up  and  going  on  with 
it.  At  least  that  was  her  attitude.  He  won- 
dered, indulgently,  how  long  she  would  be  able 
to  keep  it. 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  ^jj 

"  And  Calcutta  ?  I  suppose  you  left  it  steam- 
ing?" 

"  I  hardly  know.  I  was  there  only  a  couple 
of  days  before  the  mail  left.  Almost  the  whole 
of  July  I  have  been  on  tour." 

"  Oh — really  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Church.  Her  face 
assumed  the  slight  sad  impenetrability  with 
which  we  give  people  to  understand  that  they 
are  trespassing  upon  ground  hallowed  by  the 
association  of  grief.  Ancram  observed,  with 
irritation,  that  she  almost  imposed  silence  upon 
him  for  a  moment.  Her  look  suggested  to  him 
that  if  he  made  any  further  careless  allusions  she 
might  break  into  tears. 

"  Dear  me ! "  Judith  said  softly  at  last,  pour- 
ing out  the  tea,  "  how  you  bring  everything  back 
to  me!" 

He  thought  of  saying  boldly  that  he  had 
come  to  bring  her  back  to  everything,  but  for 
some  reason  he  refrained. 

"  Not  unpleasantly,  I  hope  ? "  He  had  an 
instant's  astonishment  at  finding  such  a  common- 
place upon  his  lips.  He  had  thought  of  this  in 
poems  for  months. 


316  HIS   HONOUR,  AND  A   LADY. 

She  gave  him  his  tea,  and  a  pathetic  smile. 
It  was  so  pathetic  that  he  looked  away  from  it, 
and  his  eye  fell  upon  the  portrait  of  John 
Church,  framed,  near  her  on  the  table. 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  a  good  one?"  she  asked 
eagerly,  following  his  glance.  "  Do  you  think  it 
does  him  justice  ?  It  was  so  difficult,"  she  added 
softly,  "  to  do  him  justice." 

Sir  Lewis  Ancram  stirred  his  tea  vigorously. 
He  never  took  sugar,  but  the  manipulation  of  his 
spoon  enabled  him  to  say,  with  candid  emphasis, 
"  He  never  got  justice." 

For  the  moment  he  would  abandon  his 
personal  interest,  he  would  humour  her  con- 
science ;  he  would  dwell  upon  the  past,  for  the 
moment. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  think  he  never  did.  Per- 
haps, now — 

Ancram's  lip  curled  expressively. 

"  Yes,  now,"  he  said — "  now  that  no  appreci- 
ation can  encourage  him,  no  applause  stimulate 
him,  now  that  he  is  for  ever  past  it  and  them, 
they  can  find  nothing  too  good  to  say  of  him. 
What  a  set  of  curs  they  are !  " 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 


317 


"  It  is  the  old  story,"  she  replied.  Her  eyes 
were  full  of  sadness. 

"  Forgive  me  ! "  Ancram  said  involuntarily. 
Then  he  wondered  for  what  he  had  asked  to  be 
forgiven. 

"  He  was  a  martyr,"  Judith  went  on  calmly — 
"'John  Church,  martyr,'  is  the  way  they  ought 
to  write  him  down  in  the  Service  records.  But 
there  were  a  few  people  who  knew  him  great 
and  worthy  while  he  lived.  I  was  one ' 

"  And  I  was  another.  There  were  more  than 
you  think." 

"  He  used  to  trust  you.  Especially  in  the 
matter  that  killed  him — that  educational  matter 
— he  often  said  that  without  your  sympathy 
and  support  he  would  hardly  know  where  to 
turn." 

"  His  policy  was  right.  Events  are  showing 
now  how  right  it  was.  Every  day  I  find  what 
excellent  reason  he  had  for  all  he  did." 

"  Yes,"  Judith  said,  regarding  him  with  a  kind 
of  remote  curiosity.  "You  haye  succeeded  to 
his  difficulties.  I  wonder  if  you  lie  awake  over 
them,  as  he  used  to  do !  And  to  all  the  rest. 


318  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

You  have  taken  his  place,  and  his  hopes,  and  the 
honours  that  would  have  been  his.  How  strange 
it  seems !" 

"  Why  should  it  seem  so  strange,  Judith  ?  " 

She  half  turned  and  picked  up  a  letter  and 
a  newspaper  that  lay  on  the  table  behind  her. 

"  This  is  one  reason,"  she  said,  and  handed 
them  to  him.  "  Those  have  reached  me  to-day, 
by  some  mistake  in  Mr.  Doyle's  office,  I  suppose. 
One  knows  how  these  things  happen  in  India. 
And  I  thought  you  might  like  to  have  them 
again." 

Ancram's  face  fell  suddenly  into  the  lines  of 
office.  He  took  the  papers  into  his  long  nervous 
hands  in  an  accustomed  way,  and  opened  the 
pages  of  the  letter  with  a  stroke  of  his  finger  and 
thumb  which  told  of  a  multitude  of  correspond- 
ence and  a  somewhat  disregarding  way  of  deal- 
ing with  it.  His  eyes  were  riveted  upon  Doyle's 
red  pencil  marks  under  "  his  beard  grows  with  the 
tale  of  his  blunders "  in  the  letter  and  the  news- 
paper, but  his .  expression  merely  noted  them 
for  future  reference. 

"  Thanks,"    he    said    presently,    settling    the 


HIS   HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

papers  together  again.  "  Perhaps  it  is  as  well 
that  they  should  be  in  my  possession.  It  was 
thoughtful  of  you.  In  other  hands  they  might 
be  misunderstood." 

She  looked  at  him  full  and  clearly,  and  some- 
thing behind  her  eyes  laughed  at  him. 

"  Oh,  I  think  not !  "  she  said.  "  Let  me  give 
you  another  cup  of  tea." 

"  No  more,  thank  you."  He  drew  his  feet 
together  in  a  preliminary  movement  of  depar- 
ture, and  then  thought  better  of  it. 

"  I  hope  you  understand,"  he  said,  "  that  in — 
in  official  life  one  may  be  forced  into  hostile 
criticism  occasionally,  without  the  slightest  per- 
sonal animus."  His  voice  was  almost  severe — it 
was  as  he  were  compelled  to  reason  with  a  sub- 
ordinate in  terms  of  reproof. 

Judith  smiled  acquiescently. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  that  must  often  be  the  case," 
she  said  ;  and  he  knew  that  she  was  beyond  all 
argument  of  his.  She  had  adopted  the  official 
attitude ;  she  was  impersonal  and  complaisant 
and  non-committal.  Her  comment  would  reach 
him  later,  through  the  authorised  channels  of  the 


320  HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY. 

empty  years.  It  would  be  silent  and  negative  in 
its  nature,  the  denial  of  promotion,  but  he  would 
understand.  Even  in  a  matter  of  sentiment  the 
official  attitude  had  its  decencies,  its  convenien- 
ces. He  was  vaguely  aware  of  them  as  he  rose, 
with  a  little  cough,  and  fell  back  into  his  own. 

Nevertheless  it  was  with  something  like  an  in- 
ward groan  that  he  abandoned  it,  and  tried,  for 
a  few  lingering  minutes,  to  remind  her  of  the 
man  she  had  known  in  Calcutta. 

"Judith,"  he  said  desperately  at  the  door, 
after  she  had  bidden  him  a  cheerful  farewell,  "  I 
once  thought  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  you 
loved  me." 

She  was  leaning  rather  heavily  on  the  back  of 
a  chair.  He  had  made  only  a  short  visit,  but  he 
had  spent  five  years  of  this  woman's  life  since  he 
arrived. 

"  Not  you,"  she  said  :  "  my  idea  of  you.  And 
that  was  a  long  time  ago." 

She  kept  her  tone  of  polite  commonplace ; 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  a  recognisant  bow, 
which  Ancram  made  in  silence.  As  he  took  his 
way  downstairs  and  out  into  Kensington,  a 


HIS    HONOUR,  AND   A   LADY.  321 

malignant  recollection  of  having  heard  some- 
thing very  like  this  before  took  possession  of  him 
and  interfered  with  the  heroic  quality  of  his 
grief.  If  he  had  a  Nemesis,  he  told  himself,  it 
was  the  feminine  idea  of  him.  But  that  was 
afterward. 

One  day,  a  year  later,  Sir  Lewis  Ancram 
paused  in  his  successful  conduct  of  the  affairs 
of  Bengal  long  enough  to  state  the  case  with 
ultimate  emphasis  to  a  confidentially  inquiring 
friend. 

"As  the  wife  of  my  late  honoured  chief,"  he 
said,  "  I  have  the  highest  admiration  and  respect 
for  Mrs.  Church  ;  but  the  world  is  wrong  in 
thinking  that  I  have  ever  made  her  a  proposal  of 
marriage ;  nor  have  I  the  slightest  intention  of 
doing  so." 


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•*•        sode  of  the  Ametican  Civil  War.     By  STEPHEN  CRANE.     i2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Mr.  Stephen  Crane  is  a  great  artist,  with  something  new  to  say,  and  conse- 
quently with  a  new  way  of  saying  it.  ...  In  'The  Ked  Badge  of  Courage'  Mr. 
Crane  has  surely  contrived  a  masterpiece.  .  .  .  He  has  painted  a  picture  that  chal- 
lenges comparisons  with  the  most  vivid  scenes  of  Tolstoy's  '  La  Guerre  et  la  Paix'  or 
of  Zola's  '  La  Debacle.'  " — London  New  Review. 

an 
Cc 

"  Not  merely  a  remarkable  book  ;  it  is  a  revelation.  .  .  .  One  feels  that,  with  per- 
haps one  or  two  exceptions,  all  previous  descriptions  of  modern  warfare  have  been  the 
merest  abstractions." — St.  James  Gazette. 

"  Holds  one  irrevocably.  There  is  no  possibility  of  resistance  when  once  you  are 
in  its  grip,  from  the  first  of  the  march  of  the  troops  to  the  closing  scenes.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Crane,  we  repeat,  has  written  a  remarkable  book.  His  insight  and  his  power  of  realiza- 
tion amount  to  genius." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"There  is  nothing  in  American  fiction  to  compare  with  it  in  the  vivid,  uncom- 
promising, almost  aggressive  vigor  with  which  it  depicts  the  strangely  mingled  condi- 
tions that  go  to  make  up  what  men  call  war.  .  .  .  Mr.  Crane  has  added  to  American 
literature  something  that  has  never  been  done  before,  and  that  is,  in  its  own  peculiar 
way,  inimitable." — Boston  Beacon. 

"Never  before  have  we  had  the  seamy  side  of  glorious  war  so  well  depicted.  .  .  . 
The  action  of  the  story  throughout  is  splendid,  and  all  aglow  with  color,  movement, 
and  vim.  The  style  is  as  keen  and  bright  as  a  sword-blade,  and  a  Kipling  has  done 
nothing  better  in  this  line." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 


I 


N  DEFIANCE  OF  THE  KING.  A  Romance  of 
the  American  Revolution.  By  CHAUNCEY  C.  HOTCHKISS. 
I2mo.  Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  The  whole  story  is  so  completely  absorbing  that  you  will  sit  far  into  the  night  to 
finish  it.  You  lay  it  aside  with  the  feeling  that  you  have  seen  a  gloriously  true  picture 
of  the  Revolution." — Boston  Herald. 

"  The  story  is  a  strong  one — a  thrilling  one.  It  causes  the  true  American  to  flush 
with  excitement,  to  devour  chapter  after  chapter  until  the  eyes  smart ;  and  it  fairly 
smokes  with  patriotism." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  The  heart  beats  quickly,  and  we  feel  ourselves  taking  part  in  the  scenes  described. 
.  .  .  Altogether  the  book  is  an  addition  to  American  literature."— Chicago  Evening 
Post. 

"One  of  the  most  readable  novels  of  the  year.  ...  As  a  love  romance  it  is  charm- 
in?,  while  it  is  filled  with  thrilling  adventure  and  deeds  of  patriotic  daring."— Boston 
A  dvertiser. 

"  This  romance  seems  to  come  the  nearest  to  a  satisfactory  treatment  in  fiction  of 
the  Revolutionary  period  that  we  have  yet  had." — Buffalo  Courier. 

"A  clean,  wholesome  story,  full  of  romance  and  interesting  adventure.  .  .  .  Holds 
the  interest  alike  by  the  thread  of  the  story  and  by  the  incidents.  .  .  .  A  remarkably 
well-balanced  and  absorbing  novel." — Milwaukee  Journal. 


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